Mirage
by JediShyala
Summary: Shadowmere is still adjusting to life as a Dunmer when she finds herself roped into rebuilding a fallen city and taunted by a dream she can't finish. Will her life ever truly be her own, or is her past continuing to cast shadows on her future? R&R ple
1. Chapter 1

Mirage

By JediShyala

This is the sequel to my first story "We Are Merely Shadows"

Please no flames.

I do not own Ilend, Sigrid, Menien, Savlian Matius, or any characters that appear in the game. They are the property of Bethesda and I thank them for allowing me to having them in my literary sandbox.

Saeana is as much mine as any player character belongs to their respective author.

The following characters are mine, please do no use without my permission

The woman Shadowmere

Ilura

The Butterfly

Maremma

The Lamb

Tavrel

I will add others as I see fit.

Thank you for waiting and please review!

Mirage

"_I see the world, a last illusion's shimmer, it is crumbling all around us."_

_ ~Morian Zenas, The Doors of Oblivion_

What the Wolf Saw

Sniffing the ground thoughtfully, a shaggy, skinny timber wolf plodded through the snow, barely noticing the towering portal that seemed so out of place in the frozen wilderness. The glowing amber door howled in an a-melodic tone that could most readily be described as the echo of a scream, and the wolf whimpered at the sound, but he was hungry enough to ignore the auditory annoyance. Beside the charred frame, the wolf came across a small dead creature, the color of man-flesh and its entire body curled, from the top of its pointed ears to the ends of its clawed fingers. It was the same type of animal that had been eating all the rabbits, rats and deer, leaving the wolf and his kin without much to eat. Despite its apparent hunger, the wolf didn't touch the now bloodless flesh; he knew this type of meat wasn't fit for eating. Many in his pack had succumbed to their hunger and torn into the strange corpses; they almost immediately began howling in pain, spewing froth and shaking violently, before dying. He had not eaten the meat, and he and his mate had survived. She had fallen to hunger and now he wandered the forests alone.

Instead of lingering over what would be his last meal, he continued his search for food, leaving the beast to be consumed by the indiscriminate elements. Suddenly, the gate's sound changed from a howl to a cough and made him lift his bushy head and his cautious ears perk up. The reflection of the setting sun on the unbroken snow became unnaturally intense and before he could even think to blink his lupine blue eyes, the portal exploded, spewing bitter cold fire and jagged rocks across the ground. The blast tossed the wolf into the air and sent him tumbling into a snow bank twenty feet away with a yelp. Unfazed, he bolted off into the woods, neither hungry, nor curious enough to warrant lingering around to investigate the scene.

In addition to the other debris, two figures, a female elf and a male human, came flying out, crashing to the ground with separate, heavy thuds. The Imperial man struck the snow like a sack of wet flour, not moving after he landed, while the Dunmer woman hit violently and kept rolling, crossing paths with rocks, downed branches and the occasional razor sharp piece of broken ice, until she came to rest on her belly. _"Son…of a bitch."_ The stabbing pain in her side and head did not allow her thoughts to be more intact than simple cursing. The brilliance of the sunset seared her eyes and sent a pulse of sheer agony through her cranium, making the woman bury her face in the crook of her elbow while she tried to catch her breath, melting the snow under her lips with each pained breath. Each inhalation caused such intense discomfort, that she wasn't entirely certain that she hadn't been impaled on something after she had been thrown from the gate. It took her gingerly running her hands over her side and back to assuage her fears of being skewered. Her head was spinning like a cyclone, there was a storm atronach pounding its massive fists against the inside of her skull and she couldn't entirely remember where she was.

"_But my…name is Shadowmere…"_ She could not truly forget her name again, but virtually all else at this point was a mystery. The low hum and slight pulsing of the sigil stone, which had somehow remained in her outstretched right hand throughout her vicious tumbling, reminded her where she had been most recently, which reminded her where she had been before that; an Oblivion gate on the southeast slope of the road to Bruma.

"_With Ilend,"_ Shadowmere remembered, the thought breaking through her delirium like the flickering light of a will o' the wisp. She rolled over onto her back, covering her eyes with her forearm and trying to ignore the throbbing in her head, the cold snow offering her only comfort, soothing the various wounds with which her foray into the gate had left her. Her heart sped up slightly as she realized she couldn't hear her comrade's groans or even so much as a tight, wounded exhale, like those still passing her own lips.

"Ilend?" Her voice was hoarse as she called out the name of her companion, the sounds catching in her sore throat. The silence that throbbed in her ears made her stomach twist uncomfortably, forcing her to recall what had happened just before they were hurled from the demonic plane. _"He could just be unconscious,"_ she consoled herself as she pushed herself to sitting, the movement making her body scream in discomfort, and kept her eyes covered for the time being. "Ilend?" she tried again, coughing some of the smoke out of her lungs. She lost her focus on finding her companion and continued coughing until she spat out phlegm streaked with soot and blood. "Ilend!" she called again, her voice clearer, but her eyes still hidden behind her arm. _"You can't look for someone with your eyes closed moron,"_ she chastised herself. Taking a stabilizing breath, she cautiously moved her arm down from her eyes, letting the burning light permeate her eyelids and her vision adjust gradually.

Though the storm atronach in her brain was as insistent as ever and the spinning hadn't slowed at all, Shadowmere managed to get to her hands and knees. From there she dragged herself toward a nearby tree, wrapped her arms around the trunk and staggered to her feet.

"Holy shit," she groaned her muscles quivering, the effort of standing nearly depleting her battered body. Once she had gained a reasonable amount of control over her limbs, she began to search for Ilend. "Ilend!" she called, hoping for any word from the voice that would unclench the icy fingers around her spine. "Ilend!" Through blurred vision, she scanned the ground, looking for the gleam of the man's city watch armor, trying not to think of the worst possible scenarios. _"He's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead…"_ she tried to use the thought to fight against her mounting despair and the unyielding atronach dashing her brains around her head. Her feet seemed to be magnetically drawn to the ground and it took all her physical strength to just keep them going in the search, but when compared to the psychological effort she was exerting to simply keep her eyes open, the task seemed miniscule.

Despite her earnest efforts, it was the worst possible scenario that glared back at her, reflected like a cruel mirror off of the blood-stained shield perhaps twenty feet from her. Her heart in her throat, Shadowmere hauled her barely functional limbs to Ilend's side, praying in desperation to the gods, in whom she didn't believe, that he was merely knocked out. As she made her burning eyes look at his bloodied face, her hopes were utterly dashed.

Ilend was dead; there was no question as to his state of existence as he rested on his back, his knees rolled to the side and his arm still clutching his sword. No breath moved his chest as his cornflower blue eyes, stained by crimson tears that no longer flowed, stared lifelessly at Shadowmere, who crumbled to her knees beside the empty husk. His tanned skin was cold as she put her fingers to his neck, but felt no pulse beating beneath. A crushing feeling on her chest, different from the pain she'd felt before, made it hard to take a deep breath, forcing her to take many shallow breaths. _"Bastard."_ The words burned in her mind and the heat radiated through her eyelids, making it feel as though her sanguine eyes would burst. Resting her soot streaked forehead against her interlaced fingers, she made an effort to slow her breath and try to gain control over her heartbeat. It wasn't as though Ilend had been a dear friend; he had been an acquaintance, an assistant and, at times, an asshole. The Imperial had been someone with whom to share a fire, and whom she might petition for food or beer, and someone to keep watch while she slept.

Yet, here she was, close to tears for the first time in what seemed like eons, for this almost insignificant man. _"I'm just tired," _she consoled herself, doing her best to believe in the obvious lie. _"I'm losing it because I'm tired." _While it was true that she was tired, two days deprived of sleep, it had no bearing on what she felt at that moment, kneeling over the Imperial with his Kvatch shield clutched vainly over his chest. The deep indentations in the shield showed that it had protected his torso valiantly; but even the best shield will fail if it cannot protect the area where an impending blow is about to land, as Ilend's badly bloodied head had proven, his ash brown hair streaked a dark, cruel red. A mace had been the likely culprit, as the damaged helmet some distance away would indicate.

Letting out a sigh to focus her mind, Shadowmere got to her feet and seized the now useless helm, examining it with her eyes and the tips of her fingers, no longer feeling the pain of the reflected light. The perforations were massive and the broken metal, curled inside like terrible petals, likely would have caused a few cuts of their own, had the mace not taken center stage. Sparing an apologetic glance at the dead man, she knelt once again beside Ilend's body and let out a sigh as she hacked at the hardened ground with the edge of the helmet. She knew very little about the city guards or what sort of superstitions they held about their equipment, but she suspected that using a helmet to dig its owner's grave was most likely considered bad luck. _"But what need do you have for luck when you're dead?"_ she wondered as she made an attempt to scrape away at the frozen ground.

"Buggeration," she swore under her breath as she came to the realization that this was going to be a difficult, unpleasant process; the soil was likely frozen down another foot at least, which would be almost impossible to penetrate even if she'd had a shovel. _"The snow would probably keep him preserved until I was able to get to Bruma,"_ she considered, eying the body of her friend. This idea was quickly dismissed as too distasteful even for her, not to mention the fresh wolf tracks nearby, and Shadowmere reticently scraped off another layer of the ground. She may not have felt a great deal of emotion toward Ilend, or so she claimed, but she had enough respect for the man to not leave him lying in front of an extinguished Oblivion gate for the wild beasts, bandits or remaining daedra to find. Not to mention if she refused to use her hands, which she had worked so hard to regain, to uphold the humanity that they represented then she might just as well be a horse again. _"And I owe him that much,"_ she reminded herself, thinking of the small acts of kindness he had shown her, as she chipped away at the ground.

So she dug. Inch by inch, minute by minute, foot by foot, hour by hour, she managed to make a sufficient amount of progress, though she was practically encased in sweat, itself a death sentence in this place. With the falling night temperature of the Midyear air, the Bruma cold and her endless effort making her shake, she dug nevertheless, tossing helmful after helmful of frozen dirt out of the increasing hole until it was almost level with the top of her head. There was no way she could make the grave six feet deep without trapping herself inside it, so she opted for making it a little more shallow and hollowing out a few footholds before attempting the climb. Feeling like a slug, covered with her own slimy perspiration and the mud made by the melted snow, she pulled herself out of the hole, slithering on her belly, clinging to the sprigs of harrada still growing by the remains of the gate while they lashed at her hands like whips. Through the blisters and cramps wracking her arms from the tips of her fingers to her shoulders, Shadowmere could hardly feel the sting of the abominable plants. She was too cold to have coherent thoughts, too tired and sore to consider anything other than the task at hand. Cresting the apex of the hole, she thought quickly enough to not roll on her left side, where she suspected her broken ribs were housed.

After taking a few breaths she didn't give herself the chance to come down from the adrenaline high that burned in her veins before she walked over to Ilend and crouched beside him, taking his shield in her hands, now finding herself unable to look at his face.

"I'll use this as a headstone," she said uselessly to the deaf corpse. "I'll try to find you something better, but for now this will have to do." She tugged at the shield, expecting it to come to her without much effort. As it turned out, she was mistaken to expect such a thing. For a few minutes, she tugged as hard as she dared, oddly afraid of breaking the body further, but Ilend refused to release this final hold on the mortal world. "Ilend, throw me a bone here!" she snapped. "I'm trying to help you!" Her pep talk and valiant efforts notwithstanding, Shadowmere found she couldn't free the armor from its owner. "Fine, you want it with you?" she snarled, her frustration and exhaustion limiting her patience. "Alright, take it. I don't have time for this crap." All she wanted to do was to get the man into the final bed he would ever have, and if that meant burying him with his shield, she didn't have a 'damn' left to give.

Not wanting to damage his head any further, as though it would have caused him pain, Shadowmere grabbed his ankles and meant to drag him to the grave as though she was pulling a wheelbarrow behind her. As she stood up and made a move to carry out her plan, she found herself suddenly dragged down to the ground, unable to lift his leaden legs. Pushing herself up, she looked over her shoulder and back at her former companion who, though she had moved him a few angstroms, was a granite statue, his shield still in the same position and his limbs stiff. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, now recognizing that Ilend was in the full grip of rigor mortis. His body wouldn't relax for some time now, and until that time, his full frame would be hard and unyielding as stone; she wouldn't be able to unbend his legs shy of cutting them off. Still, she was determined to bury the man before the blinding sunrise of the coming morning.

Wrapping her raw, worn hands around his cuirass, and with no small amount of physical exertion, she managed to haul the stiff, oddly positioned man over to the grave and meant to put him into it. Jerking his body left and right in a failing effort to force him into the hole, Shadowmere fought every urge she had to jump up and down on his chestplate in order to force his body to give way. "You bastard!" She wanted to scream the expletive, though it came out as barely a mutter, as if that would make his ears hear how used-up she felt at that very moment. "You chicken-shit bastard," she sighed, not caring how ill she spoke of the dead at that moment. Her newest vex in her days long crucible of physical and mental torments was due to the stiffness and unevenly distributed position of Ilend's body; the man simply wouldn't fit into the grave. If she turned him on his back, his shield would keep him suspended over the hole; if she turned him on his side, his knees wouldn't fit. Slumping to the frosty ground in defeat, Shadowmere decided this was Ilend's final way of proving just how much of an asshole he could be. Unless she wanted to leave him half-buried, something she had already decided against, she would be forced to stay here for however many hours it would take for the rigor mortis to wear off and allow him to drop into the hole so she could wrap the earth around him and give him the burial she had slaved to provide for him.

"I hate you so much," she sighed, forced to surrender to an unyielding power. Shivering, she knew she had to get out of her wet, cracked armor or she might as well join Ilend in the grave. Somehow she managed to get to her feet and unlace her supple black armor, pulling it off and almost totally ignorant of the frigid cold on her bare skin. Still, she dug through her simple pack as quickly as she could to find a thick quilted doublet and leather pants, jerking them on with all the coordination of a newborn foal. She then sat down on the armor, crossing her legs and resting her head on her hands, hoping she didn't freeze to the spot. With nothing left to do but wait, Shadowmere stared at Ilend, her emotions in fluctuation, and trying to remember how she had gotten roped into being with the Kvatch city guard. It wasn't difficult to recall the source of their meeting; it had started some months earlier, and began with a simple occurrence of an elaborate amulet falling out of a bedroll.


	2. Chapter 2

Catfight

The pre-dawn hours were like a hot, wet cloth around the humble camp on the shore of a small waterfall-fed pool, surrounded by trees that stood haughtily apart from one another in the ground as though they were doing the most important work in the world. Their arrogance couldn't hide the fact that they were, at best, a bittersweet gift to the little copse. During the day, they kept out the burning rays of the sun, but they also served to hold in the heat that seemed to radiate from their roots. They were simply no match against the temperature of Last Seed, a constant reminder that summer was still the dominant season, even in the Northern Colovian Highlands.

Before the sun had yet risen, Shadowmere was sweltering under her old quilt, but was reluctant to open her eyes, much less kick off the coverlet and expose her sweat-damp skin to the dewy, early morning air. Trying to ignore the sounds of Saeana rolling up her bedroll, she nuzzled her face into her pack, desperate to fall asleep again. She had been having an interesting dream; she had been a horse again, and she was running as fast as her legs would carry her. There was something beautiful on the horizon which she was chasing; she couldn't see it, but she knew it was beautiful. Just when she seemed about to catch up to what she was chasing, fiercely panting, the object of her desire always one step ahead of her, the sound of something falling to the ground beside her head woke her. It didn't wake her suddenly or vehemently, it was only enough to end the dream. She was disappointed to feel it end; she wanted to know what she was chasing. But the sound of Saeana's rolling and packing and tucking away her things kept her mind where it was; on the ground, beside a pond, in the Colovian Highlands where the air clung to a person's skin like heavy cream to the inside of a pitcher.

"_Another day, another Septim,"_ she lied to herself, with the full knowledge that today would likely garner money for neither her nor her friend. The two women had set up their camp some weeks ago, eager to explore the nearby caves, but had passively decided to stay for longer than they had planned. They were actually situated on the bottom tier of a two leveled waterfall, which flowed from deep in the mountain side and cascaded to a small pond before continuing its journey over the edge and dropping to a far deeper pool, where their camp had been made. The mist from the waterfalls was like a constant, though subtle, rain which kept the temperatures at a near bearable level, all too appealing in the heat. Not to mention the pond made a perfect place to keep their beer cold.

They had spent the past month lounging around the water, doing very little other than drink their icy beer, tell stories and explore the cavern behind the waterfall. They had begun the fight for the cavern when they had first set up camp and had finally taken full control of the cave from a group of bandits and undead pirates two weeks earlier. Since that rather notable accomplishment, boredom had begun to take hold. The stories began to lose their amusement, the cave was silent and even the beer had begun to taste stale. The only thing to do was sleep; at least with sleep, there could be some interesting dreams, though it seemed even they could be interrupted by banalities.

Sighing as she listened to the sound of the morning, Shadowmere cracked open her eyes and gradually let them acclimate to the slight rays of light streaming through the trees overhead as she ran her fingernails over her scalp, brushing the hair out of its sleep-mussed bun, sliding the sinew that held it onto her wrist. Rubbing her face, she felt her skin in her cheeks spring to life at the sensation, making her whole mind more alert.

"Morning Sunshine," Saeana said softly, almost as though she didn't know whether or not Shadowmere was awake. "Sorry to wake you." Shadowmere scoffed, rolling onto her back and twisting her lapis knee over her ribcage, hearing the strangely cathartic cracking from her spine and felt the flood of relief that spread over her body like a warm blanket.

"That's alright," she said with a smirk, watching her friend shudder and grimace at the sound she had created in her body.

"That's disgusting," Saeana grunted in repulsion, shaking her head as she shook out her bedroll again, already fully dressed in leather pants, a quilted top and her hair already twisted into her favored wind braids. The look of disgust now masking her face completed her ensemble.

"You do the same thing," Shadowmere retorted, bringing her bare knee down and repeating the process with the other leg, just to spite her friend, letting the grotesque song her spine sang drive itself into Saeana's elongated, azure ears. "Your back makes the same sound when you do it. Besides," she added smugly. "You only have yourself to blame; you're the one who taught me how to do this." That was true; not long after her transformation, Shadowmere had experienced terrible pain in her back after going from walking on four legs to walking once again on two. Out of sheer sympathy, Saeana had taught her how to stretch her back; the sound that came out as a result of thirty years of walking on all fours had carried for miles and caused Saeana to start dry heaving. Saeana scoffed, shaking her head as she folded the worn bedding in half and began rolling it like a pastry.

"Yeah, but it's never that nasty when I do it," she said with disdain. "You make it sound like a deer being ripped in half." Shadowmere smirked as she hugged her knee more tightly to her chest before releasing it.

"Hey, spend thirty years as a beast of burden and your spine would make some bizarre noises too," she added, stretching herself out before sitting up and pushing herself to standing.

"You know, you can win every argument like that," Saeana grumbled. "How can I possibly follow that excuse?" Shadowmere smiled in satisfaction and began rolling up the quilt that served as her bedroll. "And could you at least put some clothes on before you start putting your stuff away?" Looking down her almost bare body, Shadowmere remembered she had gone to sleep wearing only her undergarments. She would have been happy to spend the rest of her life in such attire; it meant she was Dunmer enough to wear clothes, but it allowed her to keep her brilliantly blue skin in sight. It was strange to her how much she had missed something as simple as the color of her skin, but after thirty years of black, hirsute horse hide covering her body, she was elated with every glimpse of indigo.

"Prude," she muttered, tossing her partially folded quilt aside and pawing through her pack for clothes. It was already too hot for modesty to take any kind of precedence in her wardrobe, so she pulled on a tawny vest, which left the better part of her torso exposed, and a pair of linen pants with the legs cut off high above the knees. "Does this meet with your approval?" she asked as she pulled her hair into its unavoidably messy bun, knowing that the clothing barely covered more skin than the undergarments.

"Yes, much better," Saeana said facetiously, searching for food in her bag. "Now you look like a harlot, rather than someone who was too lazy to get dressed." Shadowmere shrugged, stuffing her things into her bag; there was just no pleasing some people. Saeana held up a small sack of rice and a bag of strawberries and Shadowmere stood up, clapping her hands to signal she was ready to catch.

"Hey, an improvement is an improvement," she added as Saeana tossed the bags. Her friend scoffed at her comment as Shadowmere caught their temporarily airborne breakfast. "And how are you not sweltering?" she asked, putting down the rations on the edge of the pond and stuffing things back into her bag. "You're dressed like you're heading for Skyrim." Looking down at her outfit, with its thick quilted bodice and tightly laced leather trousers with her worn leather boots on her feet, Saeana merely shrugged.

"I grew up in Ald'ruhn, near Red Mountain," she said with nonchalance as she tied a leather strap around her bedroll. "I'm used to the heat of a volcano. This is like late Frostfall for me." Shadowmere nodded, able to accept this answer.

"I grew up near Cheydinhal," she said, surprising even herself. "Near the foot of the Valus Mountains and there was a chill even in summer. This heat is like another fifty pounds to carry around with me." It wasn't a habit of hers to spontaneously start offering information about her past; it was somewhat disconcerting that the discretion she used to have was now faltering. Saeana gave a semi-amused smile, knowing Shadowmere's admission was out of character.

"Especially after having spent the better part of your life wearing only a saddle," she added, nodding toward their cooking fire. "Now quit stalling, make some breakfast and try not to burn anything that falls out of your vest," she ordered, filling two tin cups with fresh water from the pond. Despite their fondness for alcohol, both woman had agreed that they shouldn't drink it with breakfast, even if it was just beer.

"Fine by me," Shadowmere agreed quickly, leaping into action. Surprisingly, she didn't mind preparing the meal, as Saeana asked. Since her transformation a few months prior, the novelty of being a Dunmer again had yet to wear off. Common chores, like cooking breakfast, or mending clothes, or writing a shopping list still made her heart beat with excitement, and merely the act of holding a spoon brought a smile to her face. Watching with simplistic delight as each one of her nimble fingers wrapped around the handle of the cooking pot, like dancers in perfect synchronization with one another, she lifted it, brought it toward the water and dunked the vessel into the pond, and drew up enough water to cook the rice. Hauling the black cauldron with both hands, the motion of her muscles under her azure skin giving her arms the look of an ocean, she hoisted the heavy pot up to the hook over the embers with a grunt and dumped the bag of rice in, the gentle sound of the grains plopping into the water like a sudden rainstorm.

"Shouldn't you wait until the water boils before you put the rice in?" Saeana questioned, shaking Shadowmere from her reverie at the minutiae of her own body and the sound of breakfast.

"Shouldn't you not question the person who's making you breakfast?" Shadowmere retorted, knowing the other woman would react, which she did with a small growling noise. "Especially after she carried you on her back during her thirty years-"

"Oh for the love of Azura!" Saeana burst, exasperated while Shadowmere laughed at the reaction she had elicited from her friend, despite having to duck to avoid the bedroll that was subsequently thrown at her head. "Haven't you had enough of that excuse already?" Shadowmere shook her head resolutely.

"Never. Hey what's that?" Shadowmere asked, taking a handful of the dusty earth in her hand as Saeana looked up where she pointed. "I think it's a duststorm!" She hurled the soil at Saeana's back as she turned to avoid the impact. "Get into the carapace before we all catch the blight!" Shadowmere had only been to Ald'ruhn in Morrowind once, but she remembered the enormous crab shell, which served as living quarters for the well-off of the town. But she would have to have lived in a hole on one of the moons to know nothing of the blight sickness, spread by the frequent dust storms that blew off of Red Mountain, that had plagued the homeland of the Dunmer. Those were hardly things that could be forgotten, but that certainly didn't mean they were revered, particularly to Shadowmere.

"Leave Ald'ruhn out of this!" Saeana yelped, shaking her mahogany locks to loosen the newfound dirt, though her eyes were widened with surprise that Shadowmere had made an accurate reference to her hometown. "Damn you! I can't even throw anything back at you without getting it in the pot." Shadowmere laughed in victory, tossing the bedroll back at her friend for the sheer pleasure of doing it.

"Just call me Dagoth Shadowmere," she said triumphantly. "The Sixth House rises again, bitch." Saeana rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she deflected the bedroll, sending it sailing into a rock, and picked at her hair with her fingernails.

"Of course it does; shit floats." Shadowmere couldn't help laughing at her friend's wit, even as she was pulling bits of gritty dirt from her scalp. In the months since her metamorphosis, she had opted to remain with Saeana as she crisscrossed Cyrodiil; Shadowmere had found that, while she had started her independent life disliking companionship, she now desired it. Perhaps this need came from spending so many years as the constant companion of so many people, perhaps part of her had changed from being anti-social to being…not-as-anti-social, but either way she was glad to have someone she truly considered to be a friend.

With Saeana, she had someone who shared her enthusiasm for exploring and who could hold her own in a fight; they had been in a few. Saeana was like having a sister, someone to talk to as an equal, someone to teach and learn from and, as silly as it was, Saeana was someone with whom to share clothes. She was someone who would play with her hair. Shadowmere had never had a life that included such frivolity, with the exception of Nihilsa and Mivryna braiding her mane and tail when she was boarded at their stables, and she now had the opportunity to make up for it with Saeana.

As she reached for another handful of dirt to throw at her friend, continuing her adult onset adolescence, a glimmer of light on the ground beside her drew Shadowmere's sharp red eyes toward the shining object and distracted her from her intentions. For a moment, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, because what she saw looked a great deal like an enormous red diamond on a gold chain laying in the dirt by Saeana's feet.

"What's this?" Shadowmere tried to keep her voice from shrieking as she crouched down and wrapped her dirt-caked fingernails around the stone, surprised by the warmth the stone seemed to exude. Saeana's eyes widened as though she was having the life squeezed out of her.

"Give it back," she said, her voice dangerously soft. Certain that she would never lay her hands on another treasure like this, Shadowmere was less than eager to simply hand it over.

"Did it come from the pirates?" she asked, holding the amulet up the light to get a better look at it, the beams of light it produced nearly searing her retinas. In addition to the mammoth red diamond, it was surrounded by eight other gems; two sapphires, two emeralds, two rubies and two yellow topazes. She knew she had never seen anything like this before, but it was, at the same time, somehow very familiar to her.

"No, it's not from the pirates." Saeana's voice was closer and she sounded a little more terse. "Give it back." Still inspecting the gem, Shadowmere barely noticed her friend's change in demeanor.

"So where did it come from, and why haven't you sold this thing and gone to the Jerall Mountains for the summer with a whole harem of attractive, scantily-clad young men willing to satisfy your every need?" she asked, shaking a length of her long black hair out of her face. Fully engrossed in the amulet, Shadowmere was only shaken from her reverie by Saeana snatching the bauble from her hand.

"None of your business." Saeana's curt reply was surprising to Shadowmere, who narrowed her eyes at the other woman. Since the two had met through the Dark Brotherhood, they had each assumed that the other likely had parts of her past she didn't care to discuss. They had honored these secrets and if any topic broached wasn't comfortable for one of them, the subject would be respectfully changed, but that had rarely happened as their friendship had grown. Now, the fact that Saeana had opposed her question with such fervent displeasure only spurred Shadowmere's curiosity.

"Am I going to jail for being involved with this?" she persisted, only half in jest, turning to follow her. "There's no way you got that thing legally."

"I said it was none of your business." Saeana didn't look at her as she wrapped the amulet in a ditty bag. "And by that, I meant that it has absolutely no impact on your life whatsoever."

"The mere fact that you're making such a big stink over this is giving it a much bigger impact than if you just told me what it is," Shadowmere insisted, losing her patience.

"I'd say of the two of us, you're the one making the big to-do over it," Saeana shot back, glancing up at her for an instant before pulling the drawstrings on her pack, concealing the amulet in a way she wished she could do with the conversation concerning it. "Just let it go." Shadowmere had noticed, with some degree of genuine surprise, that her friend's hands shook as she had handled the gem. Not getting any answers from the external source, Shadowmere turned her discussion inward and began tracing what she knew about the gem, which was limited to the blatantly obvious. _"Gem. Diamond. Red Diamond."_ Her thoughts raced faster than her legs ever had in this life or her previous one. The facets on the eight gems around the red diamond glimmered through the weaving of the cloth composing Saeana's pack, almost mocking her. Not to mention the one bright red gleam glaring in the middle. "_Eight and One. Nine." _The thoughts in her mind began to fall together in an avalanche of comprehension._ "The Nine." _Touching each of the smaller gems in her mind, the names of each of the Divines flashed as though seared into the jewels._ "Talos, Dibella, Kynareth, Arkay, Mara, Julianos, Zenithar, Stendarr, __**Akatosh**_._**"**_ As her mind touched the center gem, her chest burned as she gasped deeply, the thought struck her with the force of a landslide.

"That's the Amulet of Kings!" she breathed, feeling her eyes widen and heart race. Saeana glared at her with an intensity Shadowmere had only seen when her friend was bent on killing someone.

"I know!" she snarled, sliding her bag protectively behind her, her appearance resembling a mother bird defending her nest.

"Did you kill the Emperor?!" She knew it was tactless, but it was only after the words had flown past her lips that Shadowmere actually regarded her word choice. Saeana's body stiffened at the accusation and for a heartbeat, Shadowmere believed her friend had committed the crime of which she was accused.

"Yeah Shadowmere, I killed the Emperor, I'm the one responsible for the death of the most powerful man in Tamriel." Saeana's words were thickly venomous, with sarcasm muffling the sound. Shadowmere felt her gut beginning to tense with aggravation and a nostril drawing up in a twitching snarl.

"How did you get it?" she insisted, striding up to face the defensive woman until she was towering over her. Shadowmere knew she had a somewhat intimidating presence, and hoped to use it to her advantage, though she suspected Saeana wasn't intimidated by her.

"It's none of your damn business!!" Saeana hissed, pushing herself to her feet and returning her toxic look, not backing down, despite her height disadvantage and Shadowmere's domineering stance. "If you don't drop it, I'm going to hit you so hard that you're going to be able to look at your own earlobe." Shadowmere dismissed her with a condescending snort. Ordinarily, she was hampered by a strange instinct to protect her friend, residual feelings from her time as hired horse muscle she assumed. Those impulses were nowhere to be found now.

"I'm quivering." The words curled from her lips like a wisp of stinging smoke while her ember-like eyes met their match in Saeana's.

Before she could more adequately react, Shadowmere was caught off guard by the disturbing force with which Saeana shoved her, sending her stumbling backwards. Anger rising inside her like magma beneath the ground, she dug her bare feet into the dirt and charged back at her, ramming Saeana's shoulders with the heels of her hands. The impact made her stumble over a large boulder behind her and, her eyes wide and her mouth open in a silent shriek, she fell into the pool by the waterfall with a splash.

Without skipping a beat, she rose from the pond like a water demon and, though stumbling from her wet clothing, swung her fist for Shadowmere's jaw. Out of simple reaction, Shadowmere leaned back to avoid the blow, which was only partially successful. While the strike missed her face, it landed squarely on her left breast, ripping a cry of pain from Shadowmere's throat as the agony surged through her chest and brought a wave of nausea to her gut.

"Asshead!" she yelped, clutching her chest feverishly. "Damn you!" Shadowmere had long suspected that being punched in the tit was as close as a woman could come to the pain a man felt when struck in his testicles. This newest injury had now confirmed her suspicions.

The swell of vengeance compressing her chest, she wound up her own fist and pounded it against the side of Saeana's head, striking her in the ear and upper jaw and causing her to stumble, but not fall. Instead, the smaller woman thrust her fist into Shadowmere's stomach, making her grunt but, rather than recoiling in pain, Shadowmere grabbed her face and thrust it into her knee, the impact of Saeana's head causing her a small amount of pain, but the satisfying sound of the strike made it worthwhile. Saeana slumped to the ground on her hands and knees, visibly dizzy, but pausing for only a moment before swiping for Shadowmere's knees, grabbing her right leg and, in a heartbeat, pulled it out from under her. Her balance badly shaken, Shadowmere could only try to control the fall as she came down like a crumbling statue. Maneuvering her body desperately, she managed to shift her weight forward and collapsed on Saeana's back, breaking her fall and from the sound of it, her friend's ribs.

Still, this seemed only a minor setback for Saeana as she wriggled out from under her and began the assault anew, throwing herself on Shadowmere and pummeling her about her cheeks and jaw. As her fists came down, Shadowmere realized that she had forgotten how scrappy her friend was, about which Saeana reminded her as she administered a few solid blows before Shadowmere managed to get her own knee between the two of them and threw her off to her side. In the half second she took to catch her breath, Saeana was already on her feet and breathing fire. Acting quickly, Shadowmere turned over and managed to get her legs under her before Saeana rushed her. Keeping her body bent in half, Shadowmere thrust her leg backwards and up, delighted when the kick landed in Saeana's sternum, though a little disappointed that she hadn't inflicted the same excruciating pain on Saeana that Saeana had inflicted upon her in the same general anatomical area.

"S'wit!" Saeana yelled, lurching back for an instant before throwing herself at Shadowmere once again. This time she was waiting for Saeana's attack and instead of allowing her friend to land on top of her, Shadowmere grabbed her by the shoulders and used Saeana's own motion to throw her to the side, sitting on her stomach and beating her face with her fists, her hair falling out of its messy bun and sifting down her shoulders. Despite the barrage, Saeana managed to free her hands, wrap her fingers with the now dusty black silk of her mane and give a firm wrench.

Shadowmere's scalp seemed to explode with pain as Saeana pulled her abundant black hair with the strength of a sailor hauling the lines to raise a dory. Groping blindly, Shadowmere managed to rake her nails across Saeana's cheeks, skin peeling away like an apple paring before she found two handfuls of Saeana's mahogany tresses and yanked.

Grappling on the ground for a few moments, Shadowmere felt her entire body catching up with her mind, both growing too exhausted to last for much longer. She also knew things likely wouldn't evolve from here. Neither woman would make another move but neither one of them would let go of the other's hair.

"Are we done?!" she gasped, not releasing her grip, just in case Saeana wished to continue their stalemate.

"Yeah," Saeana grunted, though the tension on her scalp remained unyielding.

"We let go on the count of three?" The terms of their mutual surrender were always simple.

"Yeah. One…"

"Two…"

"Three," they said in unison. As agreed, each woman released her grip on the other's hair, and the ferocious brawl was over. Rolling on her back, Shadowmere tried to focus on the adrenaline pulsing under her skin rather than on the pain that had resulted from it as she struggled to regain her breath. From the sounds of her breathing, it seemed Saeana was doing much the same thing.

"Was it good for you?" she asked sardonically, rolling her head to look at Saeana who again scoffed, though a hint of a smile lingered around her lips.

"You have a sick sense of humor Shadowmere," she mumbled, covering her face and wincing at the touch on her cuts. "But for the record, I didn't mean to punch you in the boob."

"I know," Shadowmere said, trying to sound somewhat forgiving as she sat up. "But I did." Saeana nodded, rolling onto her stomach

"I'm glad you missed though," she admitted, sitting back and rubbing her sternum. "I've had that done before, and it hurts like nothing else I've ever felt." Shadowmere nodded, pushing herself upright and lifting her vest, peering under the fabric.

"God damn, you're not kidding," she muttered, glaring briefly at Saeana. "The one you punched is already swollen. Tomorrow I'm going to be lopsided."

"Oh suck it up," Saeana muttered unsympathetically as she sat back on her knees, gingerly touching her face with her fingertips and grimacing as she looked at them. "At least you don't look like you have war paint on your face." Glancing over at her, Shadowmere saw that indeed, Saeana had several angry red horizontal streaks across her face, small trickles of blood dribbling like tears down her nose and cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess I can be grateful for that," she muttered, dabbing blood from her own lip with her finger. "How are your ribs?" Saeana grunted uncomfortably.

"I can breathe without feeling like I'm being stabbed, so I guess they're not broken," she admitted, running her hands over her sides. "But they're sore as hell." Shaking out her hair, Shadowmere tried to ignore the radiant pain in her breast and focused on trying to steer the conversation back toward the amulet, the reason behind their morning brawl.

"I'm just glad you didn't pull out any of my hair," she said, brushing out the length of her hair with her fingers. "You pulled hard enough."

"I'm just glad you didn't knock out any of my teeth," Saeana shot back, glancing at her as she rubbed her jaw. "You hit hard enough." Shadowmere disliked the way this conversation was panning out; she and Saeana were fairly evenly matched when it came to physical condition, but Shadowmere had a slightly stronger build and a couple inches of height in her favor. Ultimately, she knew that Saeana's injuries would be more severe and she would be able to trump her in their current debate.

"So come on," she said, expediting her original idea to return to the desired topic. "Are you going to tell me about the amulet, or do we need to fight some more?" Shadowmere asked, not wanting to get into another spat about who had the worst injuries, at least before their first argument had been completed.

"Shadowmere…" Saeana started, her eyes tired and her bloodied face pitiful, clearly still not wanting to discuss it. But whether from the pain of the injuries or the weariness from inflicting them, a crack appeared in Saeana's resolve, and Shadowmere knew to take the opportunity when it arose.

"Look, you know I'm going to wheedle it out of you eventually," Shadowmere said simply, working her hand into her pack and retrieving a wide toothed comb. "Why waste our time?"

"Because then I can make you suffer for longer," Saeana answered just as flatly, though her voice was muffled behind her hand as she wiped her face on her ruined sleeves.

"Well that's friendly," Shadowmere snipped, stroking her hair with the comb and cringing as the snarls caught and put tension on her scalp.

"And trying to beat information out of me is?" Saeana snapped, walking over to the pool, dipping her hands into the water and splashing it on her face.

"If I recall correctly," Shadowmere snidely reminded her friend, carefully crossing her arms. "You shoved me first." Saeana scoffed in disdain at her argument.

"What are you, ten years old?" she asked, wiping her face on her sleeves once more. " 'She started it,' is that basically what you're trying to say?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying, now either tell me about the necklace or I'm going to give you the biggest wedgie you've ever known."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Saeana challenged, crawling with difficulty over to her pack. "My pants are so stuck to me that I think they're going to forming another layer of skin." Shadowmere scoffed, tentatively trying to work the snarls out of her mane once more. Finding it again to be too much, she tossed her comb back toward her pack.

"I have many talents Saeana, don't ask me to demonstrate that one," she said, sitting by the edge of the water. Saeana rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she pulled out a pair of brown pants and a blue linen shirt, while Shadowmere leaned backwards into the pool, immersing her scalp in the refreshing coldness, counteracting the stinging that burned through her head. "So would you please just tell me where the damn thing came from." A long sigh from her friend, as she slipped behind some boulders to change, told Shadowmere that she had won the battle of wills.

"The day the Emperor was killed," Saeana started slowly, her voice buffered by the enormous rocks. "I was in the Imperial City prison…"


	3. Chapter 3

Saeana's Tale

"_There must be a tree near the window,"_ Saeana thought as she watched the shadows writhe against the frigid stone. The images making her shiver, she curled into a tighter ball on her prison pallet. It was a depressing thing to be locked up once again; she wasn't entirely certain as to why she was here, but she did remember being in a bar fight with an old man in a tavern near Bravil and taking a solid blow to the head, which would explain why everything that followed was a mystery.

"I must surely be dead and in the halls of Azura to look upon such a vision, you are so beautiful my dear Dunmer maiden." She looked up and saw another Dunmer in the cell across from hers, all but oozing through the bars with how hard he was pressed against them. "One of the guards owes me a favor, I could have us put in the same cell, would you like that?"

"Would you like a fork jammed in your eye?" she asked spitefully. She knew her prospects were limited, but she set her sights higher than a horny old inmate in the Imperial City prison. The scrawny man sneered at her.

"You ought to have some fun before the end," he hissed. She glared over at him, to his perverse delight. "Yeah, you heard me. No matter what the law says, no matter what they told you, you're going to die in here dark elf, you're going to die!" Punctuating his sentence, the door to the dungeon clanked open. "Hear that?" he taunted brazenly. "The guards are coming…for you…" he sniggered.

"S'wit," she muttered, dismissing his rant, but getting to her feet to see what the commotion was nonetheless. The prisoner's mental state had clearly suffered, from presumably years of incarceration, but still she felt uneasy.

"Baurus, lock the door behind us!" It was a woman's voice, but it rang with seasoned authority against the stones. Saeana pressed herself against the barred door, squinting in the darkness toward the stairs.

"My sons…they're dead aren't they?" She saw the figures descending the stairs as the man's regal voice preceded them, the sight causing her heart to quicken.

"We don't know that sire," the woman spoke, reassuringly. "The messenger only said that they were attacked."

"No, they're dead. I know it." The man's mournful acquiescence to the belief that his children had been killed made Saeana's stomach ache.

"_And I thought I was having a bad day,"_ Saeana thought remorsefully, suddenly not so unhappy about being imprisoned; it seemed like a far better alternative to this man's fortunes. As they came closer, Saeana could see they were heading toward her cell, just as the would-be lover across the way had said they were. Her stomach began to twist uncomfortably, and her hand began to shake. The group consisted of the one woman and three men. The woman and two of the men wore heavy armor the likes of which she had never seen before; the steel had clearly been tempered and hardened, but it shone like the surface of the Abeccean Sea, even in the dankness of the prison. It was accented with golden embellishments, almost certainly ornamental rather than practical, along the center of the breastplate and tassels at the top. The neckguard was also gold filigree and a creature of some sort, a horse or a dragon, perched atop the helmets with the face and neck serving as protection for the wearer's nose.

The other man was older but well built and, judging from his appearance, had to be royalty. His robes were purple and red, trimmed with snow bear fur and gold. Even in the dim torchlight, she could see his fingers glimmer with rings of the most precious metals and stones. If she was going to be executed, this was sure to be the most flamboyant executioner she had ever seen.

"My job right now is to get your to safety," the woman stated firmly, refusing to hear any negative statements. By now the group was at the door to her cell and the woman leading the group looked surprised and annoyed to see Saeana standing there, pressed against the bars. "What's this prisoner doing here?" Saeana felt her body flood with relief; they hadn't come for her. She wouldn't die this day.

"The usual mix-up at the watch, I-" the armor clad Imperial man sputtered, his plans obviously thrown into disarray.

"Never mind," the woman said tersely. "Stand back, prisoner; we won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way!" Still somewhat shocked, Saeana apparently didn't react quickly enough for the hurried group. A blast of pain struck her in her left cheek, the force of which knocked her back, causing her to stumble over the pitcher on the floor.

"You, prisoner, stand aside, over by the window," the Imperial man's stance indicated he had just punched her, his fist still clenched. "Stay out of our way and you won't get hurt," he said as she pushed herself up, clutching her face.

"What do you think punching me in the face feels like?!" she yelped, staring down the scowling man. "Imperial guar fucker," she spat, looking the said guar fucker in the eye. This only served to piss him off further.

"Prisoner, get over by the window, now!" a new voice demanded. Staggering to her feet, she backed toward the window, keeping her eyes on the group, not willing to let one of them catch her unaware again. "No sign of pursuit ma'am," the younger man, a Redguard, said to the woman.

"Good, let's go; we're not out of this yet," she said, her tone all business, ignoring the fact that her lackey had just leveled a prisoner.

"Don't try anything…I'm watching you" the Imperial man said firmly, unlocking the cell door and staring directly at Saeana.

"Ooh, kinky," she said, trying to make the man feel uncomfortable as she sat up. From the way he flushed, she had succeeded. Following each guard with her eyes, she watched the parade of armor stride into her cell and over toward the wall on her right.

"You," the well dressed Imperial said in astonishment. Saeana turned her eyes to see the man staring at her as he walked over to her. "I've seen you." Getting to her feet, she felt the man's eyes meet hers without faltering, making her fear that she had done something on the outside to offend him. Gently, his aged hands welcomed her cheeks into them. "Let me see your face," he murmured. For some reason, despite the fact that his goon had just struck her, she felt comfortable with his hands on her. "You are the one from my dreams." The comfort she had felt was quickly replaced with wariness. _"Alright, Old Man's having a stroke,"_ she thought but, for some reason, she felt interested enough to not pull away.

"Then they stars were right, and this is the day," he realized, letting her face go. "Gods give me strength!" By this point Saeana was more than slightly confused; five minutes ago, she had been sitting quietly in her cell, contemplating the shadows on the floor and listening to the lascivious ranting of the prisoner in the cell across from her. Now, she had been punched in the face, her cell invaded and surrounded by enough armor and weapons to make her think she was in the Arena. Not to mention there was an apparently senile old man, whom she was certain she'd never met, claiming to recognize her.

"What's going on?" Saeana asked, wiping the tears on her wrist, her eye still watering where she had been sucker-punched.

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next," the man said. His voice reminded her of an old leather armchair, comfortable and warm. "My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell." He smiled at this statement; he seemed to enjoy that fact that she would most likely be able to get out of the prison because of this desperate escape attempt.

"Why am I in jail?" she asked plainly. This man was clearly important, and possibly had taken some part, however small, in putting her behind bars. Seeing as how she couldn't remember what had happened before waking up in her cell, someone had to know and this man could be that someone. For all she knew, this could be the old man with whom she had fought with at the tavern.

"Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet," the old man said, with a twinkle of strange mischief in his clear blue eyes. "As for what you have done…it does not matter." He shook his head slowly. "That is not what you will be remembered for." Based on that last cryptic statement, Saeana decided she needed to know the name of the person she had engaged in conversation.

"Who are you?" Saeana furrowed her brow, not sure if she was supposed to know the identity of this strange, albeit well-dressed, man. The man chuckled slightly, clearly amused that she didn't know who he was.

"I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim," he said simply, his voice commanding and powerful, though it was soft and dignified. _"Well, the outfit makes sense now,"_ she mused to herself, eying the man's garish wardrobe once again. "By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you too shall serve her in your own way." Saeana wondered if he had prepared his introduction, or if this was just the way he spoke.

"I go my own way," she said defiantly. Whatever the Emperor said, he was still the man who had authorized his troops to try and retake her homeland and she didn't feel a need to flagellate herself before him, or whatever "loyal subjects" were supposed to do when they met their rulers.

"So do we all," the Emperor agreed, to her surprise. "But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty Gods?" he said paradoxically. "You will find your own path. Take care…" He trailed off, squeezing her shoulder with fatherly affection. "There will be blood and death before the end."

Before Saeana could speak up again, she found herself cut off by the woman who seemed to be in charge of this whole excursion.

"Please Sire, we must keep moving," she said, commanding his attention as she manipulated a few stones on the prison cell's wall. Saeana couldn't help jumping a little as the entire wall shifted, sinking into the dirt floor, revealing a wide threshold into an underground corridor. The woman in armor made a move to close the door as the Emperor and the Imperial man crossed the threshold, but visibly reconsidered her option. "Better not close this one; there's no way to open it from the other side," she explained to her followers as they proceeded through the doorway. The Redguard glanced at Saeana with a look of surprise.

"Looks like this is your lucky day," he said, disappearing into the dark, dank tunnel. Saeana lifted her eyebrows, not saying anything, but the phrase _"you're not kidding,"_ ran through her mind. The Imperial man shot her a menacing look.

"Just stay out of our way," he threatened. This time, though she kept her mouth shut, she made very clear what she thought about the man. Her manacles still hanging on her wrists, she extended her arm toward him, her hand flashing an unmistakable sign.

Following far enough back from the group that she wouldn't award them an opportunity to strike her, Saeana tried to listen in to the conversation. This was impossible; there was no conversation. It was frustrating to her that the one opportunity she had to listen in on the conversation of the honest-to-Gods Emperor, he and his associates weren't saying "boo". Finding another way of entertaining herself, she poked around in the darkness, looking for anything useful. There wasn't much in the way of treasure, but she did find a couple pieces of gold which she tucked into her bosom. It was her eye for things shiny that happened to catch sight of something gleaming in the shadows ahead of the Emperor and his cadre of guards.

"Look out!" she yelled, spying a glint of steel in the movement and remembering what the Emperor had said about assassins. On instinct, she leapt from her hiding place and jumped on the back of a maroon-armored figure, taking them both to the ground and remembering only a little too late that she was unarmed. Using the tools at her disposal, she grabbed the man's head and slammed it against the worn marble of the floor until he stopped moving.

She barely had time to recover her breath when she was dragged to her feet and punched on the left side of her face; another maroon-clad assailant had come up behind her and surprised her with a fist to the corner of her mouth. Now thoroughly pissed off, Saeana entwined her fingers and slammed her wrists into the woman's face, her wrist irons striking with fatal precision, ripping open the woman's cheek.

As the woman's corpse slumped to the floor, Saeana took the opportunity to search the bloodied body for anything useful, finding a small restoration potion. Tucking it into her pocket, she happened to hear the Redguard speaking.

"Are you alright Sire?" he asked as Saeana moved on to scavenge the other assassin. "We're clear…for now."

"Captain Renault?" the Emperor asked with a sort of lost hopefulness as he nodded toward their fallen leader.

"She's dead." The Redguard's voice was remorseful but frank. "I'm sorry Sire, but we need to keep moving." Finding nothing of use on the second body, Saeana climbed up the nearby stairs to rejoin the group. She was delighted to discover that there were two more bodies from which to salvage potions or weapons, though it was clear they weren't armored. It was strange, she knew she had seen the robed figures wearing armor. _"It must have been Conjured," _she assumed, happy enough when she found a small vial of magicka restorative on a body.

"How could they be waiting for us down here?" the Imperial guard asked, brushing past her with barely a second glance, and certainly no thanks for her having spotted the figures long before he had.

"I don't know," the Redguard said quickly, wiping the blood off of his sword with a handkerchief. "But it's too late to go back now."

"They won't be the first to underestimate the Blades." Saeana tried her best to not chortle out loud at the Imperial's bravado and outright cockiness. "I'll take the point, let's move." The Redguard turned around, staring directly at Saeana.

"You stay here prisoner, don't try to follow us," he said firmly as the Imperial opened a heavily reinforced wooden door, ushering the Emperor, who tried to take another look back, through the stone arch. _"Fine by me,"_ Saeana thought to herself. She had had quite enough of those in power for one day. Waiting until the group had left her alone in the eerie chamber, she knelt beside the fallen Imperial woman. She felt perhaps a little tacky stealing from a dead ally, as she had technically been, but necessity demanded that Saeana have a weapon and she found that the woman was amply armed. A steel shortsword and strangely decorated longsword came into Saeana's possession, as well as a small pouch with twenty pieces of gold in it. She contemplated taking her armor, but it was simply too heavy for her to use and would only slow her down were she to take it.

Feeling remarkably satisfied with herself, she almost missed the scratching noises and squeaking coming from a small, boarded up cavity in the wall nearby. As the noises grew louder, the eroded boards collapsed and Saeana was confronted with three rats grinning back with sharpened, menacing grins. She let out a grunt of disgust, and slashed through the humongous rodents with the longsword, hacking one in half lengthwise and decapitating the other two. When the last beast fell, she stared at the bodies for a moment, contemplating whether or not she wanted to harvest the meat from them. The money she could gain from selling the rat meat would be mediocre at best, but it would be a great deal more than she currently had. Staring at the already loathsome carcasses, the idea became too distasteful for Saeana to stomach, and she left them where they laid, smelling as though they had already started rotting.

There was little light in the cavern where the rats had made their home, but as Saeana had spent the past few months in a dim, dank prison cell, this hardly proved to be a detriment. Glancing around she saw a small well in the middle of the room, which seemed odd to her but she didn't care enough to question it. To her left, alongside the wall, she saw a skeleton sprawled out in front of a time worn chest, still clutching its shield, with a badly rusted bow around its back.

"Thank you sir," Saeana said needlessly, trying not to take any parts of the skeleton with her as she stripped it of its valuables. In a small pouch on the bony hip, she had a bit of good luck; she found not one, not two, but three lockpicks. Saeana loved lockpicks; she knew enough magic to open locks, but that could hardly compare to the thrill of feeling the tumblers fall into place, tapped in by her own deft hand. Moving on to the chest beside the skeleton, Saeana was delighted to find that it was locked and she would be able to use her newfound lockpicks to open it. The lock was simple and easily opened, giving Saeana the thrill of hearing the tumbler's aria as it gave way. As a result of her scavenging, Saeana came up with a bow, with about fifty arrows to go with it, a leather cuirass and shield and four more lockpicks. Feeling that it would be prudent to test the weapon before she actually had to use it, she took up the bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly toward the bucket of the obsolete well. The string held and the arrow flew straight, so Saeana was satisfied and continued her trek in the dark.

She helped a few more rats find their ways back to their maker but, to her surprise, rats weren't the only subterranean creatures living in the area. She was nearly tackled by a zombie that was trying to outrun the rats. Unable to draw a weapon quickly enough, Saeana moved as though she was snatching a fly out of mid air, heat building in her palm, and pushed her hand forward, propelling a small fireball toward the undead being. The attack was small, but fortunately the zombie was in rough shape and it took no more to take him down. Unfortunately, it wasn't small enough to escape the notice of the pursuing rats and Saeana was forced to repeat her arcane assault, the fire nearly blistering the skin of her palm. Wincing a little, she rubbed her opposite fingers against her stinging, but unblemished, hand and wished she had some of the calluses she had built up when she had studied in the Mages Guild chapter in Ald'Ruhn. Still, she couldn't exactly complain; she had eliminated a threat without causing undue harm to herself after having not used magic for quite some time and, if she used the attack more often than she should, she had found the magicka restoration potion.

Her good fortune continued when she found a few more locked containers, which allowed her to use her new toys. The locks were more carefully designed than the first and required a more seasoned hand, but it was the happiest she had been in some time. As she picked her way into a locked cask, she heard what sounded like men speaking. _"What the hell…?"_ she pondered, taking a few paltry items from the cask before investigating the noise. Moving as quietly as she could, Saeana heard the voices growing loud enough to be recognizable and couldn't believe what she heard.

"We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives." The voice was that of the retarded mud crab of an Imperial guard; the one who had struck her from the opposite side of her cell bars. As impossible as it seemed, Saeana had found the three men once more.

"Help?" the Redguard scoffed. "What makes you think help will get here before more of those bastards? We need to get the Emperor out of here."

Personally, Saeana would have found it annoying if those around her talked about what they were going to do with her without actually consulting her, as they were doing with the Emperor, but the old man just stood quietly, unconcerned with their plans. Before the Imperial had time to respond, two more of the said "bastards" seemed to materialize out of thin air and charged the group. _"Not again,"_ Saeana thought, rolling her eyes. Pulling the rusty bow off of her back, she nocked an arrow and, taking careful aim, fired at the closest assailant's neck, the arrow finding its mark at the base of the Altmer's skull. The assassin dropped and twitched on the ground at the feet of the three men as Saeana smiled in satisfaction.

"Where the hell did that come from?" the Redguard asked, inspecting the body and pulling the bloodied arrow from the flesh.

"Have you seen the prisoner?" the Emperor asked, looking in Saeana's direction, though she knew he would never be able to see her from where she crouched.

"Do you think she followed us?" the Redguard asked, searching in the same spot as the Emperor, though his eyes clearly couldn't see what the Emperor did. "How could she?"

"I know she did," the Emperor said with more conviction in his voice than Saeana had ever heard anyone articulate. What was it about her that made him speak so? She had never thought of herself as a provocative person, or even all that interesting, and she had never had anyone in authority speak in her defense. For a moment, Saeana almost felt as their eyes were meeting as she hid in the shadows, some illusion of intimacy perforating the darkness.

"Sire, we have to go now," the Imperial guard exhaled impatiently, ignoring the tentative equilibrium that had taken over the dank passageway. The Emperor merely shook his head in response to the man's insistence.

"Not yet," he murmured. "Let me rest a moment longer." He still looked toward her, and Saeana began to lose the comfort of the solitude she had found in the dark corners; she had the feeling that he was just waiting for her to reveal herself. How he knew she was there was still a mystery, but she knew he was waiting for her.

Surrendering the relative safety of her seclusion, Saeana stood up straight, letting the light deliver the message of her presence.

"What the hell?" the Imperial spat, looking around at the sight of her shadow frolicking on the wall. Stepping off the ledge that overlooked the room where the three men waited, Saeana had hoped to make a sly, slightly dramatic entrance. Instead, as she dropped, she landed on a loose stone and slipped, falling laid out on her back, whacking her head on the back of her newfound shield. It was a serendipitous gift, as she landed right where an assassin charged and, as he made a move to stab her, Saeana was able to roll over, grab his ankle and trip the man. As he stood up, the Emperor's Redguard escort thrust his sword into the assassin's throat. "Damn it! It's that prisoner again!" the Imperial guard said as Saeana pushed herself up on her arm, holding the back of her head with her opposite hand. "Kill her," he shouted to the Redguard. "She might be working with the assassins!" He sounded only too eager to do the job himself, making Saeana cringe.

"They tried to kill me too, you jackass!" she yelped, using her feet to push herself away from the Redguard's sword, now hovering near her neck. Fortunately for her, the guard hesitated, giving the Emperor a moment to speak up.

"No, she is not one of them," he said firmly, holding up his hand, a silent order to sheath their weapons. "She can help us," he continued, walking over to her. "She **must** help us." The Emperor's ice blue eyes were fixed on her now, and he seemed to only be speaking to the guards as a formality.

"As you wish Sire," the Imperial guard said, his begrudging tone more than pronounced as he put his sword to rest in its scabbard. Saeana stared back at the Emperor, as he reached a jewel-adorned hand out to her and beckoned her to take it. Accepting warily, she put her scraped and dirty hand into his clean and soft palm, surprised at the strength of the man who looked to be easily eighty years old, as he pulled her up.

"Thanks," she said, not entirely sure what the proper etiquette was for when the ruler of the free world helped a lady to her feet. "You know, for not letting them kill me." The Emperor smiled with charmed amusement.

"They cannot understand why I trust you," he said, gesturing toward the guards, almost as though he hadn't heard her thanks. "They've not seen what I've seen." Though she didn't really understand what the man was talking about, Saeana decided to try and feign comprehension of his statement. But the old man furrowed his brow and she realized she had failed in her objective to keep her bewilderment from becoming a translucent facial expression. "How do I explain?" he pondered out loud, still holding her hand in his. "Listen, you know the Nine, how they guide our fates with an invisible hand?" There wasn't really a good way for Saeana to say that she wasn't a follower of the Nine, so she opted for the vaguest possible terminology.

"I'm…not on good terms with the Gods," she said carefully. Truthfully, she didn't believe in the Nine on a religious basis; more on a mythical basis. She assumed that particular dogma had probably earned her a spot on the shit-lists of the Imperial Pantheon. The only deity to whom she gave any credence was Azura, and Saeana was fairly certain that worship or reverence to a Daedra Lord, even one as benevolent as Azura, wasn't something the Nine really approved of in their believers.

"I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens," the Emperor said as he walked with her toward the doorway where the Imperial was waiting. "The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire and every one a sign. I know these stars well and I wonder…which sign marked your birth?" Saeana had to try hard to keep in a giggle; had the Emperor just asked her, "What's your sign?"

"The Atronach," she said quickly to keep herself from expressing her juvenile sense of humor. Her sign was an easy thing to remember; Saeana had been born in Morrowind during the year of a bizarre celestial event which made it impossible to forget. She was born in First Seed, typically the sign of the Lord, but that year, the Atronach had wondered across the firmament, taking the place of the Lord. Lo and behold, in Sun's Dusk, normally the reign of the Atronach, the Lord had shown himself. She hadn't been a particular devotee of the celestial happenings, but in her lay opinion, it was probably related to the Serpent and its irregular wanderings.

"The signs I read mark the end of my path," the Emperor said, interrupting her thoughts. "My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." The peace the old man had at the notion of his own demise made Saeana shiver to think of her own.

"Aren't you afraid to die?" she asked, with incredulity. "I know I would be afraid, and you seem to be…I don't know… at ease with the thought of dying." The Emperor chuckled, smiling fondly at Saeana's concern.

"No trophies of my triumphs precede me," he confessed cryptically. "But I have lived well and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death…to face my apportioned fate, then fall." Saeana let out a sigh, trying to understand the breadth of the man's words. She didn't expect to be having such a profound conversation with a total stranger but, then again, to the Emperor she wasn't a stranger.

"What about me?" she asked, trying not to let a strange wave of emotion take over her voice. "If you know you're going to die today, do you know when I'm going to die?" The Emperor shook his head resolutely.

"Your stars are not mine," he murmured, patting her hand consolingly. "Today, the Atronach will aid you with your appointed burden." With that, he let go of her fingers and turned to walk away, but his vague words were simply not enough for the newly freed Dunmer.

"Can you see my fate?" she all but begged, taking him by the wrist. "If you can't see my death, can you see my life?" Sighing heavily, the old man gave no real response at first. "What is it you see that makes you trust me?" she insisted. The Emperor sighed again, looking as though he was about to make a confession.

"My dreams grant me no opinion of success," he started, finding his voice after a few moments of silence. "Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death." The Emperor stopped walking, again cupping Saeana's face in his soothing hands and smiling gently. "But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied." Without another word, he kissed her forehead and continued walking. Saeana couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed her on her forehead; it had to have been when she was a child, but she just couldn't remember.

"Where are we going?" she asked hurrying after him like a puppy following her new master.

"I go to my grave." The Emperor's tone was black, startling Saeana more than a little, stopping her in her tracks. His voice had been soft and comforting until that moment, but with those words, Saeana saw the fear and resolution hidden behind his serenity. "A tongue, shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for awhile, then we must part." Saeana couldn't move. This was all a little too much for her to process in one day. The Emperor turned around and motioned for her to follow. "Come with us. Your destiny is bound up with mine and with the fate of Tamriel itself." Saeana merely nodded and made a move to keep walking, but found a hand on her shoulder was holding her back.

"You may as well make yourself useful," the young Redguard said, holding a torch out to her. "Carry that torch and stick close." Following closely, as he had instructed, Saeana hurried beside him.

"What's your name?" she asked innocently enough, following on his heels, the new puppy following her master once again. He looked at her as though she had just made a puppy mess on the floor.

"I don't make it a point of getting chummy with criminals," he said sharply. Saeana furrowed her brow in surprise.

"Who wants to get chummy?" she asked seriously. "I just want to know your name. If you need a decent excuse, let's say I want to file a complaint against you and your buddy." Rolling his eyes, the Redguard let out a sigh of capitulation.

"Baurus," he said simply. "The other Blade is Glenroy." He was only giving their names because he wanted to shut her up, Saeana knew that much, but the guard had no clue that she was just too curious for her own good.

"So, Baurus," she said after stifling a chuckle at the Imperial Blade's name. She had expected something like Augustus, or Tiberius, something hard and noble and intimidating. Instead he was called Glenroy, which sounded as though he should be out picking wildflowers or frolicking in the meadows. "Tell me about these 'Blades' that you work for," she said, hoping to keep the conversation on the lighter side, despite Baurus's frank dismissal.

"We're the Emperor's bodyguards. Our job is to get him out of situations like this!" he barked, making her jump a little bit. "Although I have to admit, things are not going according to plan," he added under his breath.

"Almighty Azura, I could have told you that," Saeana scoffed, taking her turn to roll her eyes. "Tell me about the Emperor; or do you call him Uriel Septim to his face?" Baurus scowled at her.

"My job is to make sure **the Emperor** gets out of here alive and I intend to do it," he said firmly. "And it would be much easier if I weren't being distracted by an insubordinate prisoner." Saeana was about vent her spleen at him, when she saw the Emperor shaking his head at Baurus's less than civil words. The nonverbal chastising seemed to be all Baurus needed to see to cool his tongue. "Just stick close and let us do our job, and you'll be alright," he said, forcing a small smile. This seemed to meet with the Emperor's approval, and the group continued on their way. Looking down at the sword on her hip, Saeana reluctantly took the scabbard and belt off and handed it all to the dark-skinned soldier. She wasn't sure that she liked him, but of the two Blades present, she certainly disliked Baurus less than Glenroy.

"I took this off your captain," she admitted. "You should probably have it back." Not waiting for a response, she walked away, trying to catch up with the Emperor. Without warning, she was grabbed forcefully by her shoulders and slammed against the stone walls, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her face to face with the Imperial soldier.

"Gods, Glenroy!" she spat out of reflex. "We're not in some seedy bar somewhere, and I'm not a Khajiit transvestite, so hands off." His scowl led Saeana to believe that he didn't appreciate either her knowing his name, or her salty comment.

"The Emperor may trust you," he snarled threateningly, jamming an accusing finger into her face. "But I don't. Stay out of our way. I've still got my eye on you." Knowing she was now under the Emperor's defense, Saeana no longer felt any fear of the man and pushed the guard's hand off her shoulder, slapped his finger out of her face, and thrust him away from her roughly.

"Have I told you to kiss my ass yet?" she asked, knowing she was perhaps pushing her luck a little bit. "If I have, then it still applies. If I haven't, then you can go ahead and pucker up." The man glared at her, as though he could set her ablaze with his eyes, cocking a menacing fist.

"That'll do Glenroy." The voice of the Emperor was accompanied by his hand on the shoulder of the soldier. "She has done us no harm; let us try to reciprocate." One side of his nose drawing up in a sneer Glenroy reluctantly lowered his arm.

"Yes Sire," he grumbled, Saeana raising her brows and giving a small, arrogant smile, slipping away from his reach, though his stare was unavoidable. Though she had the Emperor's protection, she didn't feel a need to abuse it. Anymore.

"Thanks," she said, catching up with the Emperor, who nodded in response. "What's his problem?" she asked, jerking her head back toward the guard. "Does he just not like extremely attractive criminals?" The older man let out a soft laugh.

"Glenroy is very devoted," he said. "He has nothing left except his devotion to Talos and the Septim bloodline." Saeana glanced back at the sour looking man.

"You'd think he'd be nicer to people trying to make his job easier," she muttered. The Emperor shook his head sadly.

"I'm sure there is a story behind Glenroy's actions toward you," he said. "And I suspect it's a tragedy. I know he is loyal to me and, though I doubt you'll agree, he is a good man, so I cannot fault him for his imperfections." Saeana sighed, rolling her eyes. She disliked when people were capable of seeing past the flaws of others, or even excuse their acts of jack-assery. She much preferred to think that people were either wankers or not wankers. If there were reasons behind a person's actions, it meant there was logic and if there was logic, there was thought which meant people had the choice of how to act. She didn't like that, on some level, there was a way to control the choice of whether to hurt or help someone; that **she** had that control.

"Hold up," Glenroy said, holding a hand up, breaking her train of thought. "I don't like this. Let me take a look." He went ahead of the three other people, so intent on his task that he didn't even stop to pay Saeana a second thought, which she felt was an improvement but still found somehow unsettling. "It's clear," he confirmed after giving the area the once-over. "Come on, we're almost through to the sewers." As Baurus herded them after Glenroy, Saeana noticed that the Emperor had become strangely calm, the change again making her queasy. Putting his hands over the gate's woven metal, Glenroy shook the rusty entry, a cold feeling slithering into Saeana's stomach as it refused to budge. "Damnit!" he belted out. "It's locked from the other side, a trap!" Already looking for a solution, Baurus nodded back toward a darkened alcove Saeana hadn't noticed before.

"What about that side passage back there?" he asked, maintaining his calm, cool demeanor, while the Emperor now seemed almost catatonic and Saeana now felt kwama crawling all over her skin.

"Worth a try," Glenroy admitted. "Let's go!" Now it was he who did the herding, while Baurus led the group into a tomb-like niche, lit by the torch he had passed to Saeana.

"It's a dead end," Baurus said, sounding as though he was running out of hope. "What's your call sir?" he asked, deferring to the "wisdom" of the other Blade, that had clearly gotten them so far. A sudden jerk of his head caused Saeana to jump, and the Emperor to lower his eyes.

"They're behind us!" She had reason to be afraid, but Saeana knew she had taken on these apes more than once in their venture through the bowels of the prison and come out the victor each time. Still, she found her pulse quickening as the Blades began moving more decisively. "Wait here Sire!" With that, Glenroy darted out, disappearing from view. Baurus paused to give orders to the woman who had been, not a few hours earlier, just another inmate.

"Wait with the Emperor, guard him with your life!" With that, Baurus ran off to assist his cocksure comrade. Feeling a firm hand on her shoulder, Saeana turned to see the Emperor staring straight at her, holding an amulet out to her.

"I can go no further," he spoke quickly, as though there were an hourglass before him, showing him how little time he had left. "You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!" As he folded the amulet in her fingers, his blue eyes were burning like a heart of flame, the wisdom and clarity they had held earlier was now lost. In their place was an urgency, if not a terror, which gave her no small amount of apprehension. "Take the amulet, give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son." Without words to agree or disagree, Saeana nodded tightly, wrapping the chain for the amulet around her wrist and holding the bauble in her hand. In an act of sheer desperation, the Emperor took Saeana's face in his hands, holding it perhaps a little too tightly. "Find him…and close shut the jaws of Oblivion!" As the Emperor spoke, Saeana saw a secret door open behind him, a black and magenta armored man jumping out of the passage. Before Saeana could react, the Emperor put himself between Saeana and the man's blade, bracing himself for the inevitable end he had been fortunate enough to see coming.

The black blade plunged deep into the Emperor's neck, extinguishing the hearts of flame instantly and making his head roll to the side.

"No!" Saeana yelled, as though she could stop time and change the course of events as they played out before her, the invisible hourglass having poured out its final grains of sand. As the great man fell to the floor, no blood flowing from the wound, no throes of death shaking his frame, the assassin glared up at her with a menacing grin.

"Stranger, you picked a bad day to take up with the Septims." The man lunging at her, Saeana ducked and drove her elbow into the man's crotch, his tasteless vulgar glee acting as a catalyst for her own actions. "Bitch!" he grunted, dropping his knife and doubling over in pain, his sick amusement gone. Feeling no remorse whatsoever, she pulled out the shortsword she had picked up and swung mightily. As the man's severed head rolled across the floor, leaving a crimson trail behind it, Saeana caught sight of another figure charging at her and thrust her sword in that direction, the blade running clear through the woman's belly and thrusting out her back. She barely noticed the pouring blood as she fell to her knees beside the Emperor's body, taking his limp hand.

She didn't want to rob his body, or take the rings that adorned his fingers; she just wanted to remember his hands. The hands had belonged to a man who saw something valuable in her, who didn't look upon her with disdain. They had belonged to a man who believed she had something to give the world, and had touched her face as he would a child's.

"No!" Baurus's voice came through the narrow antechamber. Saeana turned to see his face twisted into a grimace of terror and grief as he crouched beside her. "Talos save us…" he murmured, closing the Emperor's eyes. "We've failed…I'VE failed…" he said, staring straight ahead of him. "The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor and now he and all his heirs are dead." Not wanting to think that a member of the Emperor's own bodyguard would cry, Saeana ignored the hard surge of Baurus's Adam's apple and the fact that she saw him biting his lower lip. The two sat in silence, both contemplating the lifeless body before them. "The Amulet?!" Baurus cried suddenly, making Saeana jump. "Where's the Amulet of Kings?! It wasn't on the Emperor's body!" Holding her palm up, Saeana revealed the bright red amulet, the gold chain still wrapped around her wrist.

"The Emperor gave it to me," she said simply, knowing there was no way to prove she hadn't stolen it, and nothing she could say could make him trust her. To her immense surprise, she didn't need to say anything to him; he simply scoffed and raised his eyebrow.

"Strange," he murmured cryptically, making no move to remove the chain or take the amulet. "He saw something in you. Trusted you. They say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim," he said, nodding toward the Emperor. "They see more than lesser men." The Redguard seemed to drift off in his thoughts, growing wistful before Saeana's eyes.

"Why the amulet though? What's so important about it?" she asked, still not wanting to see Baurus cry, despite the fact that he looked at her as though she had the intellect of a table leg.

"The amulet is a sacred symbol of the empire," he explained softly, with surprising patience. "Most people think of the Red Dragon crown, but that's just jewelry. The amulet has power. Only a true heir of the blood can wear it, they say." Saeana nodded, looking at the necklace in her hand while Baurus shook his head in dismay. "He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?" he asked, seeking some logic on what was sure to be the most illogical day of his life.

"He said that I must take it to Jauffre," she said, shrugging and shaking his head. "Whoever that is." Though unfamiliar to her, Baurus seemed to recognize the name, his expression clearly taken aback.

"Jauffre? He said that? Why?" His questions were quick in succession and Baurus looked almost frenzied, the answers unable to come fast enough.

"There is another heir," Saeana said quickly, hoping that single answer would satisfy the Redguard. His eyes widened and raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Nothing I ever heard about," he admitted. "But Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the grand master of my order. Although you might not think so to meet him."

"Why's that?" she asked, not really interested in hearing the description of a man she had never met and only recently heard of.

"He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory near the city of Chorrol…"


	4. Chapter 4

Breakfast Ruined

Lifting her head out of the water, Shadowmere stared down the length of her body at Saeana as she emerged from her hiding space, the end of her story coming with a heavy breath and tone of finality.

"And so I got out of the prison, and I found the Brotherhood and Lucien gave you to me and here we sit." Saeana's clothing made her look surprisingly innocent, the blue of her shirt a shade or two lighter than her skin and the sleeves ending at her elbows made her look almost childlike.

"What happened to the other guard?" Shadowmere asked quietly, already suspecting the answer. "Gaylord or whatever his name was?" Pulling a comb out of her pack, Saeana untied the yarn holding her little braids together.

"Glenroy, he's dead," she said bluntly, running the comb through her wet, tousled, mahogany hair. "That last attack that got the Emperor got him too." Though she knew that Saeana disliked the guard, Shadowmere saw an expression of almost pitiful sorrow on her friend's face. She was, however, unmoved.

"So you didn't think that fulfilling the Emperor's last words might be slightly more important than joining the Dark Brotherhood?" Saeana glared over at Shadowmere as she combed out her hair.

"I needed money," she hissed, annoyed by having to explain herself further. "I wanted to hunt down the Emperor's murderers," she said, wadding up her wet clothes and tossing them close to the fire. "And in the process I made a damn good living as a murderer myself." Shadowmere rolled her eyes, gently squeezing her hair and wringing the water from the hair trickling through her fists.

"Yeah, I knew that much," she said, taking the bit of sinew she had wrapped around her wrist and wrapping her hair into a bun for the second time that day. "But you're a paper pusher now, there's plenty of time for you to do something that's actually worthwhile." Saeana said nothing, busying herself with putting on her boots and evidently trying to ignore what Shadowmere was saying. "So why haven't we been more worthwhile?" she asked, wiping the moisture from the back of her neck with her hand. Saeana looked over with her with bittersweet red eyes for just a moment before looking away in what Shadowmere could only assume was guilt.

"I'm not that kind of a person," she said shortly, dislodging her soaked top out of the damp ball of clothing shaking the wrinkles loose and draping it over a sun-warmed rock. "I do better when I only have to work for myself, defend myself and leave the rest of the world alone. Doing something like what you and the Emperor want, having that level of decency toward other people is for someone born to it; it doesn't work for someone like me." Shadowmere felt her stomach curl into a fist at Saeana's words, while her comrade calmly smoothed out the garment hanging on the rock only by the texture of the granite and fibers of which the shirt consisted. "Morality is something **I** can live without." Saeana leaned against the rock on both hands, almost as though she was awaiting Shadowmere's reaction, for which she didn't have to wait long.

Out of the rage that set her blood boiling, Shadowmere stood up, walked over to Saeana and, unable to hold back her disgust, turned her around and slapped her across the face as hard as she could, knowing it would likely lead to another brawl. The blow caused Saeana's head to jerk to the side, leaving her eyes staring at the ground to her right. Despite the severity of their previous physical altercation, Saeana's most recent statement had made Shadowmere angrier than before.

"I know how hard decency is," she snarled, barely within hearing, bracing herself for Saeana's inevitable backlash, but unwilling to keep her tirade in check. "I spent thirty years learning how hard it is, feeling how hard it is to live with morality. And even though I wasn't born to it, I changed, because I learned that I don't want to be remembered as someone who hated the world and was hated in turn. And now, Azura help me, I don't want to have wasted those years because **you** don't think it's something you feel like doing. Between the two of us, you have no business saying how tough it is to be a good person." To no one's greater surprise than Shadowmere's, Saeana didn't make any move toward retaliation. She simply continued to gaze at the ground, her jaw tensed, and her flushing cheek making the fingernail scratches bleed anew.

"Why should it be me who has to change?" The authenticity of Saeana's question was compounded by the almost naive tone of her voice, and Shadowmere couldn't help but scoff in disbelief.

"Because you're the one who was asked to," she retorted sharply. "I'm no more devoted to the empire than you are, but you were asked to fulfill the last request of The Emperor." Shadowmere was hardly patriotic, but it bothered her when people shirked their responsibilities, whether to king, country or something else entirely. Negligence on one person's behalf meant someone else had to pick up the slack and in this case it would likely be her. It was a simple enough job, but it wasn't hers to do. "And you just have to take a damned necklace to monk in Chorrol; it barely qualifies as a lengthy errand, much less an existential dilemma," she said with exasperation as she noticed the pores on her arms weeping crimson.

"I'll do this thing in my own time," Saeana snapped, snatching her wet pants off the ground, her eyes narrowing at Shadowmere who gave a smart-ass smirk. "I don't need you hounding me to do things that don't concern you in the least." Shadowmere scoffed and put her hands on her hips. _"It's like talking to a teenager."_

"Apparently you do, because it's not done yet and it's been almost a year since the Emperor was killed," she snapped in return, crouching beside the pond to wash her dirtied and scraped arms. "How much more of your 'own time' do you need to take?" Saeana let out a small shriek of frustration and threw her wet pants at the ground.

"I'll take as long as I need to take!" she snipped angrily, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and the mist from the waterfall caught in her auburn hair with her azure skin made her look like a living inferno. "Look, an hour ago you had no idea I had the Amulet of Kings and you were perfectly happy to keep on living out here, making the world a better place by killing bandits and keeping ourselves out of it. We were happy here, and now you've ruined it!"

"How have I ruined it?" Shadowmere yelped, throwing her hands to the side and casting water droplets in every direction. "You're the one who didn't do the job when it should have been done! **You** ruined it, **I** just exposed it." Saeana fell silent for a moment, and Shadowmere returned to the debridement of her arms. There was something strange about the scrapes on her arms but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She was unable to think too deeply on the subject when a sudden noise in the woods took all the energy of thought from her mind and rerouted it to her senses.

The still wet hair on the back of her neck stood up, her ears ached with a terrible, nameless sound searing through them, and her eyes burning as they sought the threat she could feel in every nerve in her body. The stink of sulfur and brimstone was so intense she could taste it on the back of her tongue and it made her want to plunge her head under the water to escape. Instead she turned around slowly, creeping toward the packs which laid unattended near the cooking fire. Keeping her eyes vigilant and pointed toward the woods, she moved the packs to pull her longsword from its hiding place and unsheathed it, Saeana noticing her sudden change in demeanor.

"What is it?" she murmured, their spat forgotten for the moment, retrieving her bow and quiver from where they hung on a broken-off branch nearby, her eyes now trailing Shadowmere's gaze.

"Something's here," she murmured, focusing her eyes over her left shoulder. "Something sounds…different…" she trailed off, her own voice distorting her ability to hear the world around her. Even before her time as a horse, Shadowmere had hypersensitive hearing; she disliked it a great deal of the time, as it was distracting and uncomfortable to experience, but at times like these it was too useful to curse.

What she heard wasn't something she could easily explain; it was like crushed glass being blown in the wind and cutting through the leaves and abrading the bark of the trees, or explosive powder igniting as it rushed past a cliff face and setting the particles in the air on fire. It was compounded by the sound of the said particles or bark and leaves screaming in agony as they were torn to pieces. Before she could relay any of this information to Saeana a far more obvious sound came out of the shrubs around the thinly clustered forest, the branches rustling as something moved behind them. As Saeana drew back the shot, Shadowmere caught sight of the cause of the noise, her breath clinging to her throat. "What the hell?" she breathed as the daedroth came into view. The hulking monstrosity growled almost lasciviously at the sight of their Elven flesh, marinating in the dewy dawn air, as drool flowed in torrents down its jaws.

Hesitating only a second, the creature charged toward where Shadowmere was crouched and with a mighty leap, bounded for her with its massive clawed arms spread wide, like a living bear trap. With a sound like the air had been stung, Shadowmere watched the lizard-monster lurch backwards with an arrow lodged in its snout, howling in pain. Seizing the opportunity, Shadowmere thrust her daedric longsword into the beast's throat and downward toward its loins. The skin of its abdomen opened up like macabre flower blooming, exposing the bowels within as she drew her knee up and thrust her bare foot against the left side of the daedroth's chest, sending it crashing to the ground. Catching her breath, she kicked the beast's scaled knee, leaving a series of scrapes on the top of her foot, as Saeana settled with circling the massive carcass, taking in every detail of the mangled monster.

"Where in the hell did that come from?" Saeana asked after a moment of silence, tucking the bow under her arm. "Daedroths don't just show up in Tamriel of their own accord." Though she knew little about the demonic creatures, Shadowmere **did** know that much. They were conjurers' pets for the most part; she and Saeana had taken on a few of them, but the corpses had always disappeared as soon as the pulses stopped, unlike the one that they had just slain. That, Shadowmere quickly realized, wasn't exactly a blessing.

"I don't know, but I wish it would go back," she said quickly, covering her nose with her elbow. With her sense of smell almost as sensitive as her hearing, the stench of rotten flesh and fecal matter from the daedroth's exposed bowels nearly made her gag. Darting toward the trees, she looked up taking a few deep breaths and trying to convince her stomach to not turn itself inside out. As the nausea diminished slightly, she caught sight of a tromped down path amidst the tall grasses and wide-spread trees that had likely been the course taken by the now dead daedroth. Letting out a sigh of frustration, she motioned down the path with her sword. "I'm going to guess it came from that way," she said, making eye contact with Saeana. Leaning forward to get a better look at the path, Saeana pulled her bow off of her arm once again and took an arrow from the quiver slung on her back.

"We should check it out," she said, with a modicum of fear in her voice. "If there are any more of these things we should take care of them before they make their way to the main roads." Shadowmere felt the corner of her mouth drawing up into an amused smirk; Saeana had said she didn't care about the rest of the world, but her actions indicated otherwise. She tried to keep her amusement hidden and not allow herself to comment on Saeana's apparent hypocrisy.

"Lead the way," Shadowmere said, making a graceful gesture of mock submission and allowing Saeana the right to take charge. Instead, her friend shook her head.

"If I'm further back I can surprise them from a distance," she said plainly. "If I hit them before they're expecting it, they won't be able to block my shot. You hunker down and when they come for me, jump out and skewer them." Shadowmere nodded, considering the matter carefully.

"If we're quiet about it, the others may never even know anything's wrong until they're lying in pieces," she murmured, thinking out loud. Saeana nodded with a grin, glad that her plan made sense to her. "Although we're operating on the assumption that there's going to be more of these ugly bastards to deal with," Shadowmere added.

"True, but we're not going to find out unless we get going," Saeana said, nocking an arrow and motioning toward the beaten down path. Shadowmere looked her over cautiously.

"You're not going to try and shoot me in the back, are you?" She hadn't forgotten that, prior to this incident, she and Saeana had been literally at one another's throats.

"Not when I still need you to help kill daedra," her friend said, her tone not lending a great amount of confidence to Shadowmere's feeling of personal safety. "So would you go already?" Wishing she had a mirror with which to watch her companion behind her, Shadowmere hesitantly started on the beaten track. Her bare, indigo feet were slightly cooled by the grass, was still cloaked in the morning dew, despite having been tromped down by the clumsy, homunculus feet of the daedroth. And while the grasses had suffered under the monster, the path was ideally constructed for hiding human and elven footprints, each blade of crushed grass acting like a spring. No sooner had her foot left the ground than every vestige of her step was erased leaving only the path laid by the daedroth.

Forgetting the phenomenon of her disappearing footprint, Shadowmere forced her mind to pay attention to the world around her. There was evidence of the beast's trek everywhere, broken branches, tree trunks gouged with deep claw marks, far deeper than any bear could make, and bits of scaly, shed skin littering the ground.

"You want some boots?" she said, gesturing toward a large piece. Saeana wrinkled her nose and scowled at the suggestion that she carry a trophy of the loathsome creature on her feet.

"Like I want Astral Vapors," she chimed, tossing it off the path with the end of her bow. "Thanks though." Shadowmere smiled to herself, but quickly refocused her mind on the task. The sound of specks of ground glass screaming past her ears and flagellating the trees was now almost unbearable, but it did help to keep her alert. She was able to catch a glimpse of something, many things actually, moving up ahead, and the disconcerting sight of what looked like a fire burning in the middle of a group of the woods. Ducking quickly behind a tree, Shadowmere motioned for Saeana to follow suit; habit assured her that her friend wouldn't hide too far from Shadowmere to be able to talk.

"Do you see them?" she whispered in a voice barely in range of hearing, motioning to Saeana, who had taken refuge behind a boulder neighboring Shadowmere's tree. Saeana gave a nod. "Can you get a clear shot from here?" This time, Saeana's response was negative, Shadowmere's shoulders drooping a little though she had suspected this might be the case. Further ahead, the tree line thinned and taking cover would be more difficult. But the cover they needed seemed be more of a detriment than an asset, as the thick foliage made it difficult for Saeana to find her target. If she couldn't hit her target, Shadowmere hiding in the underbrush for an ambush was useless.

"Can we try and get closer?" Saeana whispered, gesturing with her head toward their quarry. Shadowmere sighed, but nodded.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she admitted, staying crouched down and creeping out from behind the thick bodied tree. "Just try and stay low, find a hiding spot and stay there until I'm in place. I'll cover you." Saeana gave no acknowledgement whether she had heard her or not, but snuck ahead of Shadowmere and moved with impressive silence through the tall grasses. Shadowmere's knees were unaccustomed to being bent and crouched for such a long time, and didn't keep that secret well. The dull ache seemed to precede her in each step, but the discomfort served only as a minor distraction as she kept one eye on Saeana and the other on what she suspected were daedra in the distance. As Saeana approached a small half-buried boulder, she pressed her back against it and motioned to Shadowmere that this would be her post. Shadowmere nodded and made a map in her head of the immediate area, pinpointing herself and Saeana within it, as she continued on toward the moving embers between the branches and grasses. As she slinked through the undergrowth, the throbbing in her knees became nigh on unbearable.

"_Come on Shad,"_ she chanted to herself. _"Toughen up, stop acting your age."_ Though in appearance she was still a very young woman, Shadowmere knew how old she was. Despite the fact that Dunmer lived for hundreds of years, fifty years of abusing joints could still catch up with a person. It made her feel unnecessarily and inconveniently old. It was discouraging to see Saeana, who was the same age as her body, able to move freely and without pain, while Shadowmere had to acknowledge that something as simple as crawling might not be possible. "Don't be stupid," she scolded herself, trying to squeeze her thoughts out of her head through her ears. _"It's not like I need a walking stick or can't open a jar; it's just bad knees. If Saeana had been a horse for thirty years, she probably wouldn't move so well either."_

Unable to continue her trek on two legs, however convincing her self-assurance, she begrudgingly assumed the position in which she had been posed for more than half her life. She was so focused on her aching joints, she hardly noticed the sky above her turning from a scowling grey to a foul orange. Skulking through the grass on her hands and knees, she managed to alternate her focus from the moving figures ahead of her and maintain the knowledge of where Saeana was hidden. Drawing closer to the targets, she instinctively dropped to her belly and began shimmying, careful to not disturb the graceful stalks of grass around her, determined to not give away her position.

"Well well," an unnaturally gravelly voice made the air scowl and Shadowmere's stomach churn. Things hadn't gone according to her intentions. The pointed metal digging into the nape of her neck didn't give her any feelings of security either. "A pathetic denizen of the mortal realm, coming to the feet of the daedra as a suppliant." She didn't need his revelation of his identity to know what it was standing over her. As far as she knew, only one type of daedra wielded weapons and spoke intelligently with such an unnatural tone; the dremora. "Have you come to entreat us for mercy? Or do you seek a quick death, knowing what it means now that the barriers have been breached?" Despite the fact that she should have been terrified by her imminent demise, Shadowmere found the creature's speech annoying enough to distract from the fear.

"Do you always talk this much?" she boldly asked, lifting her eyes to see the massive humanoid daedra's void black face curl into a deeper scowl than the one with which it had been born. "No wonder people beg for death when you're around; they can't stand listening to you." The beast-man dug his weapon deeper into her neck, though Shadowmere had no regrets about her comments. _"If I'm going, I'm going with my mind cleared,"_ she reasoned, even as she felt a trickle of blood drizzle down her neck from the blade piercing her skin.

"Insolent mortal whelp!" the dremora howled in its baritone shriek. "You will learn your place!" Though the blade withdrew from her skin, its absence gave no comfort to Shadowmere; especially when she saw the dremora's shadow change. Though every fiber of her being urged her to do otherwise, she forced her eyes to stay open and watched as the beast raised its weapon, a longsword as black as the daedra's skin, and moved to bring it down on her neck. Before he could even lower the blade, the dremora was staggered by an arrow that had flown so quickly through the air, Shadowmere hadn't heard it.

Instantly losing interest in her, the dremora grabbed the shaft of the arrow and broke it off from where it lodged in his shoulder and charged toward the trees where Saeana was hidden. Knowing her friend was expecting her to cut the monster down before he even got close, Shadowmere clung to his leg, trying to conjure a new plan. To her surprise, the dremora flung her easily across the ground as he walked, and it was clear that she would lose her strength to hold on before he would be impeded by her. As he dragged her on her bare belly across the forest floor, seemingly unfazed by her weight, she did the only thing she could think of. Wincing preemptively, she bared her teeth and bit down on the dremora's thick muscled ankle as hard as she could. Like a mule stung by a bee, the demon howled and wheeled around, trying to shake her off his foot. No words, just a bestial howl with the same tone as nails on a chalkboard; it made Shadowmere want to pierce her eardrums with an ice pick. Still, she kept her teeth clenched around the beast's leg, knowing she was doing what she had to do in order to keep her friend safe.

"Release me!" it demanded, shaking his leg violently, apparently not thinking that his sword would do the trick, which was obviously to Shadowmere's advantage.

"Not on your life," she taunted through her tightly clamped teeth. The muscles in the leg tensed and spasmed so wildly that it felt as though her teeth might be ripped from her gums, but still she held her jaw firm. Suddenly, they relaxed, easing the strain on her mouth, but she didn't dare release her hold on the ankle, even as the body to which it was attached slumped to the ground.

"You BIT a dremora?!" Lifting her eyes, Shadowmere saw Saeana standing over her, her hand on her hip, looking down with no small amount of disgust. "This is what you're doing to protect me?!" Using her finger to help disengage her teeth from the immortal flesh, Shadowmere managed to sit upright.

"I was being resourceful, if you must know," she said, hacking out a spittle laced with perversely dark blood. "Thanks for taking him down as fast as you did," she offered quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking down to inspect the long scrapes on her belly where she had been dragged. Saeana scoffed, crouching down next to her.

"If I'd known you were holding on with your teeth, I would have tried to make it faster," she said, looking quickly over her shoulder. "Aren't you worried about what diseases that thing might have?" Shadowmere **hadn't** been worried at all.

"Daedra don't get sick, do they?" she asked, less as a question and more as a reminder to her friend. "They're immortal." Simultaneously, they looked over at the dead thing on the ground; supposedly "immortal." "Too bad we can't ask him." Saeana shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Even if he was alive, you couldn't ask him; your teeth would still be too stuck in his leg." Shadowmere chortled a little as Saeana gave a halfhearted smile. "We shouldn't lurk around; we have more of his buddies to kill." Shadowmere nodded, knowing her friend was right, even if her knees begged to differ.

"Give me a minute to make peace with my legs," she said, massaging her knees, which were now indented by her crawl on the grass and scraped from the distance she had been dragged.

"Yeah," Saeana said, moving along the ground with frustrating grace. "Don't crawl on the ground, it makes you easier to hear."

"I can't help it, my knees don't work like they should."

"Keep your body low and only bend your knees if absolutely necessary," Saeana said, demonstrating the position before assuming her previous position. "And quit whining. You sound like an old biddy." Shadowmere rolled her eyes, Saeana already putting too much distance between them to refute her comment.

"Bitchy little clannfear runt," she muttered under her breath, getting to her feet and lowering her body over her knees, looking up and trying to walk normally. _"Feels like I'm a cat in heat,"_ she thought, glancing at how far her backside stuck out as she walked. She begrudgingly had to acknowledge that her knees **did** feel better and she was much quieter, but she disliked how exposed it made her feel. Only too glad to press her back against the rough bark of a large tree, she looked back at where Saeana had positioned herself and gave a thumbs up with her left hand, her right on the hilt of her sword. Looking around the tree she caught sight of the group of daedra, now fully visible through the gaps in the branches. Two daedroths, a fully grown clannfear, and a spider daedra were meandering around an open patch in the woods. She looked back toward Saeana, watching her take aim with her bow. As the arrow rushed past her, Shadowmere jerked her head around and watched as it landed in the clannfear's crown, knocking the creature off of its feet. It let out a cry like a door creaking and claws scratching on glass as it got to its feet and charged into the woods.

Waiting until the beast had just passed her, Shadowmere burst out from behind the tree and swung her arm down as hard as she could, hacking the creature in half. As the remains shook posthumously, one half independent of the other, Shadowmere stabbed the green, clawed and beaked daedra through the skull, making sure it was well and truly dead. Hurrying backwards, she motioned for Saeana to repeat her attack. _"That was surprisingly easy,"_ she admitted to herself, not holding her hopes for an encore too closely to her heart.

Tucking her knees under her, she heard the air yip as another arrow flew past and the sound of it embedding itself in the flesh of another daedroth, like a snake embedding its fangs. To Shadowmere's intense horror, the sound of **two** of the ghastly creatures bellowing shook the branches and their charge made the ground rattle beneath them. _"Damn it, why can't things just be simple?"_ she griped, watching as Saeana nocked two arrows and let them fly, angled such that each managed to strike a different target. The first struck the daedroth, for which Saeana had originally aimed, between the eyes. While a fatal injury for anything less, Shadowmere knew that the creature's natural armor protected it from such a hit. The second arrow hit the second daedroth in the snout, making it reel and bellow angrily.

Using what little opportunity she had been given, Shadowmere leapt out of her hiding place and jumped on the back of the second daedroth. The rough skin abrading the sensitive skin on her thighs Shadowmere held on to the beast's spines with one hand and drove her sword into its neck. As the daedroth tumbled to the ground, Shadowmere fell off its back and rolled to the side, being careful to not fall on her own sword. Scrambling to her feet, she charged toward the other one that Saeana was now being forced to take on alone. While she was impressed by the skill her friend possessed, able to back away from the beast and continue to fire her arrows with almost mechanical accuracy and fluidity, keeping her eyes focused on the daedra in front of her, Shadowmere knew that Saeana would eventually trip and bring the predator upon her.

Running as fast as she could, she jumped on the creature's back as she had the first, but as her hands made contact with the scales, the beast shrugged her off just as easily as if she had been a coat thrown on its shoulders. It continued to relentlessly pursue Saeana, who had managed to put at least a little more distance between herself and the daedroth. Desperate, Shadowmere drove her sword through the beast's tail, effectively staking it to the ground. Giving a mighty roar, the daedroth charged forward, tearing open its tail and bending Shadowmere's sword. But the creature had now been left off balance from the absence of part of its tail, and stumbled left and right like a Nord sailor on shore leave. Shadowmere pulled her sword from the ground and shook the remains of the tail from it, cringing a little at the sight of the viscera flying left and right. Rushing toward the drunken looking creature, she hacked at it with her ruined sword, desperate to distract it from her friend. When the blade lodged in the creature's shoulder, she finally gained its attention.

"Come get me, you ugly bastard!" Shadowmere yelled, forgetting there were more daedra deeper in the woods. Snarling and slobbering all over its massive teeth, the daedroth swung at her with its filth-laden claws. She managed to duck under the beast's elbow and dodged its blows, while it continued to flail wildly, and ripped the sword out of the its arm and drove the bent blade into its back. A sudden breeze past her cheek, sounding something like a mosquito, rushed toward the daedroth and embedded itself in its eye. The arrow proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, the beast letting out a howl and falling limp to its knees and forward onto its snout.

Wheeling around, Shadowmere, still clutching her face, scowled at Saeana, who was still lowering her bow.

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" she snapped, rubbing her cheek where the arrow had rushed past. "You almost hit m-" Abruptly, Shadowmere found herself unable to speak, unable to move, unable to even blink her eyes. With her stomach in her toes and her hand frozen on her cheek, she felt herself tipping forward, powerless to break her fall.

"_Not again,"_ she cringed, the feeling of having her entire body paralyzed unpleasantly familiar. It brought back all the odious memories of when she had been made into a horse. The smell of the dead horse's blood trickling down the ground around her, the look in her eyes when Shadowmere had slit her throat, the sound of Hannibal's voice as the creature he loved so dearly died before his eyes. It was like a nightmare for all of her senses.

She crashed to the ground like a glass figurine falling off of a mantel, the hand covering her cheek protecting her face from injury, though the rest of her almost bare body had virtually no protection. Lying paralyzed on the blood-soaked ground, Shadowmere did her best to keep from panicking, though the memories flooding her mind made that task nearly impossible. _"I'm in my own body, and Saeana's here, she saw what happened, she has some magic,"_ she counseled herself. She managed to calm herself, even as she caught sight of a tiny spider daedra showing its fangs, stained red with her blood, in a boastful, macabre grin. _"You little horse's ass,"_ she thought, unable to speak her mind. As she wished fiercely for the ability to kill with a thought, Shadowmere was taken aback by the sight of Saeana's foot striking the spiderling and punting it far out of sight.

"The venom will wear off in a minute," her friend assured her, kneeling and thoughtfully tucking a length of Shadowmere's obsidian tresses behind her ear. "You're welcome by the way. And I'll ignore your little tantrum about my arrow." Though she very much wanted to ream out her friend, Shadowmere said nothing, even as the feeling started to return to her face and fingertips. Moving her lips to spread the feeling from her mouth to her cheeks, she curled her fingers into fists and managed to push herself upright. "You're bleeding," Saeana observed, gesturing toward her forehead. Clumsily putting a hand to her face, Shadowmere found that in fact she was bleeding from a split lip and a scrape on her brow ridge.

"Great," she muttered, wiping her hand on her bare leg. "Well, if there's a spiderling, there has to be a mother somewhere," she said, getting awkwardly to her feet, her knees wobbling like a newborn foal's. Her feet still tingling and largely insensate, she felt her body struggling to make up the difference as she tried to keep her balance.

"I know," Saeana said, holding onto her elbow to keep her from falling. "And she knows where we are, even if we don't see her." Glancing around the area, Shadowmere was surprised that she didn't see the tell tale waving grass and hear the enormous spider rushing toward them. Without warning, a force strong enough to slam them both to the ground assaulted them from behind. Shadowmere didn't have time to scream or even grunt in surprise before she found herself face down in the dirt once again.

"You bitch!" Shadowmere yelped, looking behind her to see the spider daedra hissing madly at them as she leapt toward Saeana's leg. Her outburst surprised the creature just enough that she could kick the spider square in the jaw, stunning it while Saeana managed to land a single arrow in its forehead. Dazed and bleeding, the daedra staggered backwards and grabbed at the arrow, while Shadowmere delivered another punishing kick to the creature's face, bloodying it and knocking it to the ground. Jumping up, she drove her feet down on the spider's skull, feeling it crack under her calloused heel.

"That's disgusting," Saeana grimaced, looking sallow and woozy. Shadowmere rolled her eyes, dismissing her repugnance.

"My sword is broken, I have to improvise," she sighed, trying to excuse her brutal action, even as she rubbed her foot against the ground to get the matter off of it. "Are you going to take stuff from these things or what?" Though clearly nauseated, Saeana set about taking pieces of the dead daedra, pulling loose teeth from the daedroths and squeezing the venom and silk from the spider, then cutting the heart from the dremora, and the claws from the clannfear. As much as her own actions repulsed Saeana, that was as much as Saeana's sickened Shadowmere. She knew the specimens were valuable and that Saeana was right to take them when the opportunity arose, but Shadowmere still found the practice disgusting.

"Weep, fettlekyn!" The unnatural voice surprised both women to the point where Shadowmere openly swore and Saeana dropped a fistful of teeth back into the daedroth's mouth. A dremora, one that they had certainly not seen before, was barreling toward them, swinging a mace and bearing the scowl characteristic of his kind. Bending backward to avoid the mace's reach, Shadowmere barely managed to pull herself upright before the weapon came after Saeana. Charging like a mad ram, she drove her shoulder into the demon's gut, slamming them both into a tree and making him grunt.

"Sae-!" Shadowmere gasped, the impact of their bodies against the trunk having knocked the wind out of her. "Do someth-ing!" Before Saeana could even react, the dremora reached down and wrapped his fingers around Shadowmere's throat.

"Shatter, weakling!" the beast man shouted, squeezing her neck as he lifted her off the ground, ignoring Saeana. Unwilling to submit to this fate, Shadowmere swung her body backwards and used the motion to swing her legs up and around the enormous armored bicep, locking her feet.

"Now…" she tried to shout, but she couldn't find the air to move her words. _"…would be the time to do something!"_ That's what she would have said, hoping that Saeana would make something happen; anything. Keeping one knee twisted around the dremora's arm, she used her other leg to kick at his head, feeling each detail of his contorted face beneath her foot. Her head swimming amidst thoughts of death and the desire for life, she held on as tight as she could, though she felt her fingers weakening and losing their hold as the dremora's fingers dug deeper into her neck. Though she could feel the strength leaving her and a starry night sky was closing around her eyes while her lungs tore themselves to shreds in their desperate search for air, she kept kicking. Her consciousness becoming a memory, Shadowmere felt her morning's dream returning to her.

She was running, her hooves pounding the ethereal ground, the movement stirring shimmering clouds of iridescent dust. Though she couldn't see it, she knew something was smiling at her, calling her by a sound she didn't recognize; a name, a greeting, a curse, she didn't know which. She ran harder, the smile growing broader and the cloud of dust shimmering like a flawless diamond in the sun. Unable to breathe with the ferocity of her run, she found the light getting brighter. Shadowmere could almost feel the warmth of the beam when she felt as though she was about to surface after having been underwater for far too long, and the dream began to crumble.

Shooting upright, Shadowmere gasped deeper than she ever had before, clutching her throat where the dremora had held her and drinking in the sweet, heavy morning air.

"It's about time," Saeana said, holding her by her shoulders and a sigh of relief in her eyes. Unable to control herself, she wrapped her arms around Shadowmere and rested her head against her shoulder. "I was getting worried about you." She was like a little child greeting her mother when she came home. Shadowmere coughed, clearing her throat and massaging the skin, still indented with the beast's ragged nails, but spared a hand to wrap around her Saeana's arm that was locked around her front.

"How'd you take him down?" she asked, after a moment of comforting, her voice as haggard as an Argonian barmaid's, and looked for the corpse she knew had to be around somewhere. Releasing her hold across Shadowmere's chest, Saeana wordlessly reached down beside her knees and held up a smithing hammer, the rounded corners now cracked off and coated with blood that dripped off every edge and ran down the handle. Looking over the corpse, not ten feet away, Shadowmere was slightly repulsed; her friend had shown no mercy to the dremora, whose head now looked like a hunk of partially masticated meat. "Very resourceful," she said quietly, looking away in a hurry. Just as Shadowmere had before, Saeana had made a rather distasteful, but necessary, improvisation.

"How did we miss that one?" Saeana asked, lifting her head and tossing the hammer into the underbrush with disdain; the tool was now totally useless and even less pleasing to behold. "I only saw the four; the spider, the clannfear, and the two daedroths. Did you see it?" Shadowmere shook her head, the answer only raising more questions.

"I didn't see the first dremora either," Shadowmere murmured, still trying to catch her breath as she tried to iron the imprints out of her skin. "So how did they get here?"

"I don't know." Her friend merely shook her head, getting to her feet and extending her hand to her. "Can you get up?" Saeana looked toward her, surveying the damage the beast had inflicted. "We should go look where we first saw the others. Maybe there's a cave or something where they're hiding out." Shadowmere nodded, letting Saeana pull her to her feet. She motioned to all the carcasses lying strewn on the ground, just waiting for rot to set in.

"You get everything you wanted from those things?" she asked. Saeana nodded, not giving the bodies a second glance as they wandered into the forest and looked for anything out of place.

It only took a short walk for the two Dunmer women to come across what could only be an explanation; a colossal, lucent oval, framed by a dark structure constructed from a substance Shadowmere couldn't identify, stood in the middle of the clearing. To her surprise as she got closer to the edifice, a monument to the fallen daedra that were scattered around it, Shadowmere heard the sound she had first sensed when they started their march into the woods. She had all but forgotten it, subconsciously choosing to focus on killing before being killed instead of annoying sensory stimuli. Now though, she had to fight to keep from covering her ears to block out the low volume but high intensity sound. That sound; it was so unnatural that the air around her seemed to be trying to reject it. It was like the voice of the dremora, or the clannfear; it simply wasn't something that belonged in this world. _"…now that the barriers have been breached…"_ The first dremora's words rang in Shadowmere's mind.

"What did you say the Emperor said before he died?" she murmured, looking over to Saeana, who stared in awe and terror at the abominable display. She remembered the words, but they were bouncing around her head, disjointed and meaningless.

"Close shut the jaws of Oblivion," Saeana breathed, unable to separate her gaze from the unholy vision. Shaking her head, Shadowmere struggled to make sense of the two statements. _"…barriers have been breached…" "…close shut the jaws…" "…breached…" "…close…"_ There was a definite congruence, but Shadowmere just couldn't find the bridge between them.

"You think this is what he was talking about?" she offered, as Saeana closed her eyes, trying to take things in. Without a word, her friend turned and started walking back toward the camp, slinging her bow over her shoulder. Shadowmere didn't see a point in speaking up again; she knew Saeana had heard her, but she wasn't going to listen at the moment. Their new wounds were bleeding, but the old ones hadn't had time to heal.

The walk was quiet, the unnatural sound of the unnatural structure offered the only audible accompaniment to their trek. Shadowmere took the quiet time to examine her new injuries; at the moment, there was nothing from which she wouldn't recover. There was a small cut to her neck, from the first dremora's sword, the scrapes on her inner legs from her impromptu ride on the back of the daedroth, a slight split lip and bump to her right brow from her fall from the spiderling's bite and the marks on her throat where the last dremora had held her. All in all, an uncomfortable, but not overly painful encounter. She had found herself in far worse shape any given morning at Tavrel's house.

As they approached the camp, Shadowmere set herself beside the pond once more, dipping her hands in the water and bringing up a makeshift bowl into which she dunked her face. As she rubbed the cold, cathartic liquid over her neck, she caught sight of her indigo arms and the strange, scraped wounds she had somehow acquired in her fight with Saeana.

"Fine!" Saeana's exclamation was so sudden that it made Shadowmere jump, splashing herself with the icy water. "Fine, we're close enough to Chorrol that I really don't have an excuse to not go. At any rate, I don't want to stay here anymore." Shadowmere smiled to herself, her back to Saeana, as she washed her arms, satisfied with her success. It had only taken a fight with six denizens from a demonic plane and a near death experience for her to gain the upper hand. _"Like candy from a baby."_

"When do you want to leave?" she asked, intent on scrubbing the red off of her lapis skin, as though she was polishing a gem. It was strange; either there was dirt in her strangely painless wounds, or they had already begun to scab in tiny pin-pricks.

"I don't know," Saeana sighed, her voice sounding defeated as she slumped, presumably, against one of the boulders. "After breakfast I guess." It was her friend's mention of breakfast that brought a realization to Shadowmere's mind. Tentatively, she licked one of the residual red stains on her arm finding it wasn't blood, it was strawberry juice, and the "scabs" were seeds. Her mind beginning to reel, she scanned the ground fervently, her stomach grumbling with annoyance as she found that the bag of strawberries had been smashed in the fracas, and spread across the scuffled dirt, the juice bleeding through the thin bag.

"Oh crap," she muttered, hurrying back to the cooking pot that now boiled angrily on the fire. The water had steamed almost entirely from inside, leaving the sticky, burnt mass of rice congealed on the metal. Taking a spoon and Saeana's still damp pants that she had thrown down, she steadied the pot and tried to move the mass with the spoon, succeeding only in making the unappetizing meal even more so.

"So, Saeana?" she said hesitantly, not wanting to bring this up as well. As if the morning hadn't been draining enough, they now had to face the rest of it on an empty stomach.

"What?" her friend huffed, gathering the wet clothing scattered through the camp and giving her a look that said "shut your face before I break it in."

"How would you feel about leaving _before_ breakfast?" Shadowmere asked, in meekest fear of Saeana doing exactly as her expression had dictated. Instead, Saeana's head dropped and her face seemed to send up a white flag.

"Rice burned?" she asked needlessly. "Burned" wasn't the word that first jumped to Shadowmere's mind when she looked at the pulverized mass of viscous grains, but certainly the bottom part was scorched.

"Let's call it that," she said hesitantly, scooping out a spoonful of the pulpy meal and throwing it on the fire, which crackled and hissed, trying to spit it out.

"So, if you had listened to me and not poured the rice in we would at least have breakfast now?" Saeana's voice was heavily laden with the most potent venom Shadowmere had ever heard.

"Yeah," she admitted with reluctance as she rolled her eyes. "So I guess we're tied for arguments then," she said, hoping to get her friend to smile. The comment fell like an adamantium netch.

"I'd rather you were right about the rice," Saeana sighed, her voice filled with defeat and exhaustion as she began breaking down the camp.


	5. Chapter 5

The Best Pancakes in Cyrodiil

The walk to Chorrol was silent for the most part, the only sounds coming from tiny chirping insects, the growls of the women's empty stomachs and the occasional stream that seemed to chortle at them as they walked by. Taking advantage of the quiet, Shadowmere contemplated all that Saeana had told her about her imprisonment and subsequent escape. Despite all the crimes and unlawful acts she had committed, Shadowmere had never spent a day in prison, though she considered the time she spent in Tavrel's house a worse form of incarceration than could ever have been imposed on her by the guards and legions. Tavrel let her go to the river, but other than that she was trapped inside a dark, dank house, given only a small pallet next to the fireplace and never enough to eat. She would have had nothing to complain about, if that had been the worst of her treatment in Tavrel's domestic penitentiary, but though she no longer had the scars as evidence, the memories of his brutality were still as fresh in her mind as the days on which they had happened. The outrage she had felt as Ilura watched while Tavrel beat and rape her was mixed with the feelings of helplessness as she remembered witnessing Ilura suffer the same indignations made a shudder run along her spine in the blistering heat.

"What was that?" Saeana's voice jerked Shadowmere out of her waking nightmare, a welcome change, as her memories only seemed to bring her more pain.

"Nothing," she lied fluidly. It didn't seem like the right time, if there ever was one, to reveal the secrets of her distressing past. The sounds of the insects and stomach grumblings overtook the conversation again, and Shadowmere was left alone once again with her thoughts, which inexplicably drifted toward the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother.

Ilura. She hadn't really thought of her since the last time she had seen her; her thin, sullen face etched with shock and horror and joy as Shadowmere took the freedom that had been so long denied to them both. Though she hadn't been able to stop Tavrel from inflicting his will upon her, Ilura had always been there after the fact to help her heal the wounds and stop the bleeding. How had she forgotten her? Why hadn't she ever gone back for her? The answer was less complicated than Shadowmere had thought; she had been a horse, her life not her own. There had been no way for her to go on any kind of a rescue mission.

"_Except between ages fifteen and twenty."_ Her thought was a bilious ulcer in her brain. There had been a five year gap between when she had run away and her transformation; she could have gone back for her. Perhaps that would have changed things; perhaps she wouldn't have embarked on the murderous streak that had only ended when Hannibal Traven came into her life. Perhaps if Ilura had been there, they could have made their way in a legitimate fashion; they could have had a small settlement, living as mother and daughter, with a small farm or something. The idea was almost banal enough to put Shadowmere to sleep on the spot and she knew that life, while far more pleasant, wasn't one she could have lived. _"But at least Ilura would have been safe." _

Her time to dwell on the past was cut short as the great oaken gates of Chorrol opened, the blue crest of an oak tree parting, and Shadowmere and Saeana went through. Shadowmere had never been in Chorrol before and was somewhat charmed by the provincial surroundings. To her far left, beyond a stone fence and small field of grass, there were several small bungalows arranged in a circle at the bottom of a hill. Up the road from the bungalows were several nicer looking houses which led to the chapel, the mere sight of which made Shadowmere roll her eyes. Coming down a slight slope toward the gate where the two women stood were a few establishments, an inn and a dry goods store from what Shadowmere could make out of the signs. Straight ahead of Saeana and Shadowmere was a statue of a woman holding a dying man and up yet another hill was a smith shop and several very large, well built houses. To Shadowmere's right, on surprisingly flat land, was a path leading toward the castle and a small, rickety building with a faded, weather-worn sign that read "The Grey Mare".

"This alright for breakfast?" she asked, motioning toward the run-down looking building to Saeana. She gave a curt nod, evidently still holding a grudge over the morning's events. _"It was just rice,"_ she thought bitterly, pushing open the rickety door to the tavern.

The interior was adorned with all the trappings of a small, disheveled bar, yet there was something there that lent a feeling of individuality to an otherwise indistinct establishment. To their right were a few tables where patrons sat eating, drinking or otherwise keeping to themselves. An Altmer woman, who if she had been standing would have been a good six inches taller than Shadowmere, sat at one table, reading a thick tome filled with indecipherable glyphs. In the corner a blond Breton man who, despite the time of morning, seemed to already be drunk as he danced with an invisible partner. At Shadowmere's entrance, he stopped for a moment and whistled.

"Damn!" he hooted, apparently forgetting about his partner. "Where's your clothes, lady?!" Shadowmere looked down at her nearly bare body and shrugged.

"I knew I forgot something," she said, feeling a little exposed, despite all her confidence. Still, after spending so much of her life wearing far less than this, it was hard to feel really embarrassed.

"Can I help you ladies?" The proprietress called from behind the bar. She was a Nord, with pale skin that seemed to give off a light of its own, eyes the same azure as Shadowmere's skin, and hair the color of fresh-cut hay. While not as tall as the Altmer patron, she made up the difference in build; she had a strong frame which was accented by well-developed muscles. Yet, the woman was hardly unattractive, in fact her face reminded Shadowmere of one of the stained glass windows of Mara in the chapels.

"What do you have?" Saeana asked, sitting at one of the tables. "Preferably something other than rice." Shadowmere didn't know whether Saeana had seen the vile, congealed blob in the bottom of their cooking pot, but the specific nature of her inquiry indicated that she had. She wasn't surprised to find she also thought the idea of rice was altogether unappealing.

"Barley, bear, beef, boar, chicken, eggs, mutton; you name it I've probably got it and can cook it," the woman said, polishing a glass, the muscles in her forearms rippling with the movement.

"Ham and eggs?" Saeana asked, the woman nodding in response. "Do you have coffee?" The proprietress nodded once more, jotting Saeana's order down on a piece of scrap paper.

"And you?" she asked, looking to Shadowmere, whose stomach still contemplated the prospect of a meal she didn't have to cook in a sooty pot over a smoldering fire.

"Steak, eggs, toast with blackberry jam, pancakes, hash browns and coffee," Shadowmere said quickly, taking a seat next to Saeana. She hadn't had a real breakfast in weeks and it seemed only proper that she take full advantage of the inn's abounding larder. The woman raised an eyebrow as she quickly wrote the order on her scrap paper. _"She probably thinks I eat like a horse,"_ Shadowmere thought with amusement, the irony not lost on her.

"Be back in a second," the woman said, hurrying out the door. Since she didn't see a stove or cooking utensils anywhere, Shadowmere had to assume that the kitchen was in a separate building. Left alone with Saeana once again, she ran her brain through a sieve, looking for any bit of debris that might bring something in the way of civilized conversation to the table. Thus far she had yet to pan anything more than a nugget of pyrite. She sighed heavily as her friend examined her fingernails with an inordinate amount of attention, examining each cuticle, each chip and each molecule of dirt as though it was of life-changing importance. It was what she did when she was avoiding Shadowmere, or just in an altogether foul mood. Shadowmere wanted to fight through the tension until the solution presented itself, which was in direct opposition to Saeana wanted to do.

"You're not going to talk to me now?" she muttered, not wanting to draw attention to their table. Saeana looked at her fully for the first time since they left their camp, though her seething expression made Shadowmere's ass clench tighter.

"I think I've said what needs to be said," she sneered. "As have you. You won, we're going to the priory, now just let me be for awhile alright?" Shadowmere rolled her eyes, but said nothing, as Saeana requested. Despite all the hugging and displays of affection after their encounter with the daedra, Saeana had once again slipped back into the mentality of a cranky child.

"What the hell is her problem?" she ruminated, a dour expression fixed on her face. She knew the errand was little more than a courier service, but the fact that it involved the Emperor's amulet elevated its significance. What they were doing was something that could mean something to the people of Cyrodiil, rather than just being beneficial to themselves.

Then again, Shadowmere could see where Saeana was coming from; for them to ever be associated with the Amulet of Kings meant that people would hear about them. It meant they would lose their obscurity, lose the comfort of anonymity. People would recognize them, their names would be known, judgments would be made and rumors would be started.

"It's just delivering a piece of jewelry to a group of monks," Shadowmere said, making sure she kept her voice low as she downplayed the significance of their job. "It's not as though it's a difficult task."

"But it's never just that simple!" Though she remembered at the last minute to lower her voice, Saeana's tone was like that of a condemned woman issuing her last pleas. "Do you really think those monks aren't going to ask us to go and find this lost heir or whatever he is?"

"So we take another detour on our never-ending sojourn to nowhere, who cares?" Shadowmere retorted, furrowing her eyebrows. "It's not like we're in a hurry or anything."

"And then, once we go to find that guy, what do you suppose we'll have to do next? Maybe he won't believe us, and we'll have to find proof that he is who he is. And oh, by the way, the Emperor was assassinated! His sons were assassinated! Don't you think there's a slight chance assassins might come after this guy too, if they haven't already?"

"I thought you wanted a shot at them?" Shadowmere reminded Saeana of her words back at the camp. "Isn't that why you joined the Brotherhood." Saeana's eyes widened and she looked as though she had just been pushed and was teetering on a rock, about to fall into the icy pond again.

"Well, it's out of my system now," she sputtered, turning her eyes away from Shadowmere. "I don't want to kill anyone anymore." Shadowmere wanted to strike her, violently.

"You're the Listener, and you don't want to kill?" she asked, her voice squeaking with how hard she had to try to keep from shouting.

"You said it yourself; I'm a paper pusher," Saeana reminded her harshly, a snide look on her face. "I haven't killed for them since I was promoted. I talk to Arquen, tell **her** who needs killing and smack some people around to make sure I'm still respected in the sanctuary. I don't want any more connections, I just want to be left alone, and doing this little errand is NOT a good way to get what I want." Shadowmere had had enough.

"So give it to me," she snapped. Shadowmere disliked this whiney, 'woe-is-me' side that Saeana was showing. It was childish and inane and altogether intolerable. Shadowmere knew it had been her experiences in another body that had given her an inordinate amount of time to acquire the wisdom that now made so much sense to her; Saeana hadn't been given that opportunity. Yet this wasn't secret knowledge and it wasn't as though Saeana was a child; how had she not learned to grow up by now? "Give me the amulet. I'll take it to the monks so you can lose your connection to me and you can go back to wandering until someone finds your body by the side of the road and buries you in a shallow, unmarked grave." A sudden image of Hannibal Traven's black mare lying dead, her throat slashed by Shadowmere's hand, flashed through her mind, the memory making her chest feel heavy. "It really turns out well for you doesn't it?" she spat under her breath.

If Shadowmere had been expecting to see the hurt in Saeana's eyes she still might have been surprised by its intensity. Her expression would have been the same if Shadowmere had abandoned her by the side of the road with a tattered doll. Shadowmere didn't know how to feel, other than her initial surprise. She was glad that Saeana had at least listened to her, but despite the fact that she had just been furious with her, she didn't like knowing that she had upset her.

"I didn't mean that I didn't want you with me," Saeana murmured penitently, looking down at the table. Feeling upset that she had lost her temper, Shadowmere sighed.

"I know, but come on," she scolded softly. "Do you really think expecting to live your life without having some contact with the rest of the world is realistic? Even when I was a horse I had connections with people. I had more to do with people as an animal than as a person, and the interactions were certainly healthier; for them, if not for me."

"I've tried to be a decent person," Saeana said, her face tight with aggravation. "And you know what happened? I was disowned by my family, forced out of my homeland and thrown in prison!"

"Which led to you meeting the Emperor, which led to you being in possession of the Amulet of Kings." Shadowmere was losing her will to accommodate Saeana's shortsightedness. Though she wanted to delve deeper into the reasons behind Saeana's exile, questioning her past would only give her a desired excuse to change the subject. "Your being thrown in jail means that you get to play a part in history, you stupid ass! You'll be the one people talk about when they talk about the person who was chosen by the Emperor and returned the Amulet of Kings and helped find the heir to the Imperial bloodline!" Saeana crossed her arms and leaned on the table, resting her forehead on her forearms.

"This is why don't want to talk to you right now." Though the sound was muffled, her words were clear as they traveled through flesh and wood to reach Shadowmere's elongated ears.

"_Why? Because you can't think of a decent argument because you're an idiot?"_ Slumping back in her chair, Shadowmere closed her eyes, keeping her newer thoughts to herself. As much as she hated the silence between the two of them, she didn't think filling it with angry and spiteful words would be any sort of an improvement.

Looking around the inn, she amused herself with watching all the other patrons. The Altmer woman had closed her book and gone and had been replaced by a white haired old man who bore a worried expression on his face as he walked behind the bar and thoughtlessly filled his tankard before sitting at a table. The drunk in the corner had retired from his dance and was settled at the table, humming as he played an imaginary piano with one hand and drinking from a tankard with the other.

"Flyin'! Flyin' in the sky!" His sudden burst into song made Saeana jump and Shadowmere raise her eyebrows. "Cliff racers fly so high! Flyin'!" Shadowmere couldn't help but chortle at the ridiculousness of the song. "Hey!" the drunk yelled over to her. "Hey!" Getting the impression she would regret her actions either way, Shadowmere slowly turned around.

"You need something?" Shadowmere asked, amused at the fact that she had managed to gather the man's attention when he had been fairly oblivious to just about all his other surroundings.

"Yeah…why're you laughing?" His indignance was obvious, despite being accented by slurred words. "I'm expressing the ma-jesty of the cliff racers through song, i's not funny!" Shadowmere tried her best to hide her smile.

"I'm laughing because cliff racers are as annoying a creature as any that have ever walked the surface of Tamriel," she said, crossing her arms. The pale, blond man pointed at her and let out a loud, honking laugh.

"Shows what'chu know!" he hooted, his reaction almost instantly making her laugh. "Cliff racers fly, they don't walk, you stupid…stupid!" A smug smile crept across his face. Shadowmere just shook her head.

"Alright, you got me, cliff racers fly," she admitted, turning her attention back toward the table as she tried to think of more ways to make Saeana talk, though the drunk decided that their talk wasn't over yet.

"Damn right!" The drunk yelled, clearly not ready to relinquish the conversation. "Hey lady! Lady! Lady!" He was just shy of screaming at that point, and Shadowmere decided that, to avoid creating more of scene than had already been created, she really ought to pay attention.

"Yes sir?" Shadowmere asked, using the title loosely as she turned back to face him again, resting her elbow on her crossed leg and her chin on her folded fingers. The man crawled over the top of his table and sat on the edge, facing her and swinging his legs playfully.

"Lady, I got to tell you- lady, you listening?" Shadowmere did her best to avoid laughing as she nodded. The man smiled at her words and leaning forward and emphasizing heavily with his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. "Okay, lady. Lady, lady, lady, lady- you still listening?" The old man at the nearby table shook his head and sighed noisily to express his annoyance with the situation, though the drunk didn't even notice. His attention was entirely focused on Shadowmere which, while mildly flattering, was perhaps a little more disconcerting.

"In fact I am," she reassured him all the same. She knew what it was like to feel that no one was listening.

"Okay, I've got to tell you about the- lady, you listening?"

"Yes." It took a concerted effort for Shadowmere to hide the exasperation that was creeping into her mind and threatening to spill into her voice.

"You've got to pay attention lady, 'cause I'm going to tell you something. I've got to tell you about the pancakes here." Listening intently, she was simply glad that the point had finally come around, but her joy was struck down by an irritated sigh from the old man.

"Damn it Reynald, no one wants to hear about the pancakes anymore!" he snapped, glaring over at the younger man, who audibly growled back.

"Hey! This is important stuff!" he yelled indignantly. "She ordered pancakes, she should know what she's getting, you horse's ass!" Hoping to avoid an incident, Shadowmere spoke up, trying to bring the man's attention back to her.

"Go right ahead, tell me about these pancakes," she insisted. The man grinned smugly at the old man, brushing a hand out from under his chin in an obscene gesture.

"Okay, here's the facts," he said, dusting off his hands from the imaginary effort. "Lady, you still listening? 'Cause I don't want to say this twice."

"Still listening," she said, already regretting her decision to engage the man. He nodded, taking a long swig of his tankard before proceeding.

"Alright, first they take a pancake." The man was illustrating his point with his hands and he spoke as though he was passing down family secrets from one generation to the next. "And then they add a layer of syrup. Then, they add another pancake. You with me so far?"

"Yessir."

"Okay, then they add a layer of butter and syrup and then…damnit, what came next?"

"I'm going to guess-" Shadowmere started to give a suggestion, but the man waved both hands frantically and shook his head.

"No, no don't help me, I'll get it. Another layer of…it went pancake, syrup, pancake, butter, syrup…pancake! It's another pancake that comes next. I knew the whole time, I was just fooling you."

"Well played."

"I didn't act, I just thought…wait a minute…Did I get that backwards?…never mind, I'll tell you about these pancakes. They are the best pancakes this side of High Rock. It goes pancake, syrup, pancake, butter, syrup, another pancake and then, guess what comes next?" Shadowmere shook her head, no longer able to contain her amusement as a smile fixed itself deeply into her cheeks.

"I can only imagine," she said, using a great deal of effort to keep her voice from breaking into laughter.

"Damn right, you can only imagine! More butter, and more syrup comes next! I had you completely fooled!" The man suddenly went from being very amused, to practically pitiful. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried to fool you. But these pancakes are the best mother-fucking pancakes in Cyrodiil."

"Reynald, language please," the Nord woman said, walking through the door with three plates of food balanced on her arm, leaving one arm free to open the door.

"It was a compliment Emfrid, just take it that way!" The drunk was now indignant again, forgetting the conversation in which he'd been engaged with a woman he didn't know.

"I accept the compliment," she said, setting the plates on the table and turning to speak to Reynald with her hands on her hips. "But could you could say 'the finest pancakes' instead-"

"I see your mouth moving," the drunk interrupted, using his hand to mimic lips moving as he pushed himself off the table and started shaking his ass in rhythm with his words. "But all I hear is 'blah, blah, blah.' It's a good thing your pancakes are so good, and you're so pretty, otherwise I'd never drink here." Shadowmere couldn't help laughing behind her hand at Reynald's antics.

"Yes, wouldn't that be unfortunate," the old man muttered, just out of earshot of the drunk. Emfrid scowled at Reynald, who had just cut in to dance with his invisible partner again.

"Next time you think about talking to me like that Reynald," she threatened wrapping her hand around his tankard. "I'm going to cut you off and call up your tab." Shadowmere smiled as Reynald dropped his partner and grabbed for the ale.

"Emfrid, don't be like that," he begged. "I'm sorry for being rude." The Nord woman furrowed her brow and looked at him with skepticism, while Shadowmere continued her discrete laughing.

"No more smart-mouthing?" she asked, not releasing her hold on the tankard. Reynald shook his head fervently, as though she were threatening to break his fingers. "Alright then." She released her hold on the sweating metal and Reynald brought the vessel to his lips, downing the liquid as fast as he could swallow it, tiny amber trickles escaping from the corners of his mouth. Shadowmere shook her head as she turned her attention away from the Breton, who now stood panting after his face time with the tankard, and pulled the plate of pancakes over to her and began cutting them up.

Popping a bite in her mouth, she was nearly overwhelmed by the soft, sweet taste that danced in her mouth like a true-love's kiss. Putting another forkful behind her teeth, Shadowmere fought against the urge to shove all the pancakes in her mouth at once. She regretted having ordered anything but the food in question. However questionable the man's habits, vis-à-vis, being shit-faced before noon, the drunk did know good pancakes when he found them.

"So…" Saeana started, still playing with her food, speaking to her for the first time in the duration of their meal. "How were your pancakes?" Shadowmere was tempted to ignore her, but she was so relieved to hear some modicum of polite conversation that she barely finished chewing before responding.

"Best mother-fucking pancakes I've ever had," She said without blinking. Saeana nodded, taking a bite of her eggs, chewing them thoughtfully before swallowing. Looking up at Shadowmere, Saeana tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out through her nose, resulting in a honking sound, which in turn made Shadowmere chuckle. The icy tension between them began to melt, making Shadowmere's shoulders relax and the pancakes go down a little easier.


	6. Chapter 6

Shadowmere had a Little Lamb

The meal continued in silence, but it was due to the fact that Shadowmere and Saeana were intent on eating, and not on account of any tension that still lingered between them. With the lack of interruption from one another, and only fleeting comments from the dancing drunk in the corner, the meal passed quickly. Glancing around the small building, she realized that other than the drunk and the proprietress, who was gathering dishes and steins from the tables, they were alone in the establishment.

"So I suppose we should ask someone how to get to the priory," Saeana sighed at last, sitting back in her chair and tossing the napkin onto the table. Shadowmere nodded, nibbling on her toast. Her stomach was full and she was sure if she ate much more it was going to start coming out through her pores, but the jam was delicious and the bread had been toasted to perfection.

"You're looking for Waylon Pillory?" Before they could decide whom to ask, the blond inebriate spoke up, eavesdropping with surprising discreteness for someone so loaded.

"Is that code for Weynon Priory?" Shadowmere asked, taking another nibble of her toast and soaking in the sweetness of the preserved blackberries. Her question amused the man who gave a chuckle through his nose.

"Yeah, it's my secret code." His face narrowed into a scowl when he realized what he'd said. "How'd you get into my brain?" He shook and slapped the side of his head as though he had water in his ear. "Get out of my head, naked lady!" Shadowmere wondered how often he, or any man, had ever wanted a naked woman out of his thoughts.

"I'm not naked, but yeah, I'll leave your brain alone when you tell me how to get to the priory," she said nonchalantly. Considering her offer, he looked up and stopped slapping his head, his face focused into an overly pensive consideration.

"Alright," he agreed with resolution. "Go out the south gate and go left down the path. First, you'll come to a farm; that's not the one you want, that's where that old fart who was here earlier lives. Keep going and the next building you see is the priory." He nodded assertively. "Use my name, they'll get you right in." Saeana laughed out loud and shook her head in disbelief.

"They know you?" she inquired skeptically. Shadowmere too was doubtful that the monks had anything more to do with him than perhaps handing him temperance pledges.

"They raised me," he responded frankly, his answer surprising both Shadowmere and Saeana. "Everything I have I owe to them." Shadowmere wasn't sure that she'd consider an invisible dance partner and a total lack of social propriety something she'd want to attribute to anyone.

"Alright," she said nonetheless. "Your name's Reynald, right?" He nodded, taking a swig of his tankard before answering.

"Damn right!" he said, not noticing the foam left around his upper lip. "Reynald Jermane, the one and only."

"Thank Akatosh for that," the proprietress murmured, forcing the two Dunmer women to restrain their amusement. Instead, Shadowmere got to her feet, still holding on to her toast and picking up her pack.

"Alright One and Only," she said, shifting the weight on her shoulders, Saeana following her lead. "Thanks for the word about the pancakes."

"It's a pleasure," he slurred, taking another swallow. "Thanks for not wearing any more clothes than you are; it's a nice change from all the buttoned-up chapel maids." Shadowmere could only laugh in response as she left a few septims on the table, more than enough to cover the cost of their food, and tossed some to Reynald, who grinned like the drunk he was.

"Take care Naked Lady and friend!" he called, lifting his tankard to them and motioning to Emfrid. With a sigh, the proprietress took the tankard and began refilling it as the two women walked out the door.

Before they'd gotten very far, Shadowmere took a detour and sat on the edge of the statue in the street in front of the tavern, letting her bag slide off her back.

"What are you doing?" Saeana asked, dancing on the balls of her feet, irritated with having to wait.

"Trying to find shoes," she said, trying to search her pack without unpacking it. "My feet swell when I eat and it hurts to walk on them without shoes." Saeana shrugged and sat beside her, not bothering to take off her own load.

"Whatever makes you happy Naked Lady," she smirked.

"Oh Gods," Shadowmere muttered at the nickname as she pulled her boots out of the bag. In the heat, they weren't her first choice for footwear, but they were the only ones readily available. "You're going to keep calling me that now, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Saeana said with a child-like grin. Lacing her worn black boots, which reached just under her knees, Shadowmere shook her head. She had been so long without a name that she didn't like when people called her anything than "Shadowmere" or some variation of it. "Naked Lady" fulfilled neither of the prerequisites. "You know, those boots don't help refute the whole prostitute appearance," Saeana added as she traced patterns in the dirt with the toes of her shoes. With an extended grunt of exasperation, Shadowmere drastically tightened her laces.

"If I were still a horse and wore this much clothing, people would think you were absolutely nuts," she pointed out, cinching the bands of rawhide and knotting them. "You would be tied up into a nice little bundle and handed over to Sheogorath for dressing your horse."

"Well you see, that's the thing," Saeana said, letting her legs stick out straight in front of her, as though comparing the color of her legs to Shadowmere's. "You're not a horse anymore. So I'm not going to Sheogorath, and people think that you look like a devotee of Dibella." As she started the process of putting on her other boot, Shadowmere shuddered at the thought of herself worshipping one of the Divines.

Other than the stained glass simulacrums in the chapel, she had no idea of what the Divines looked like; each image of the gods were subject to the memories and imaginations of their worshipers. They weren't real. There was no truth in them. It frightened her to put her faith into something she couldn't even see and frightened her more to think that other people did. What was it that made people trust their fortunes, their security, their very lives to things beyond their control? She had had enough of living with her life in someone else's hands.

"I doubt anyone anywhere would mistake me for a dutiful chapel-goer," she said, tightening the second set of rawhide laces and getting to her feet. "But no need to tell the monks. We can let them make their own assumptions." Saeana rose, passing Shadowmere her bag and adjusting her own.

"Fair enough," she said, striding toward the gate. "Let's go." Shadowmere rolled her eyes as she hoisted the bag up higher. After eating, Saeana would always have an absurd amount of energy, with enthusiasm to the point of being obnoxious and perhaps two hours later she would be barely have the oomph to move. Shadowmere on the other hand, would get tired after eating and would want nothing more than to curl up in a warm blanket and pretend she was back in her unknown mother's womb. Her energy would come gradually, and she would go for hours, sometimes days. On this particular meal, she thought she could probably go for a week without eating again. Between Shadowmere's lethargy and Saeana's gusto, there was perhaps half an hour of overlap where they were both at their prime. Passing through the gate, Shadowmere continued snacking on her toast, trying to catch up to Saeana, knowing she wouldn't overtake her.

"Since you're so eager to move," she called up to her. "You should carry my bag to even out our speeds." Saeana just laughed.

"Yeah, nice try," she shouted, turning around and walking backwards. "Come on, work off those pancakes!" Shadowmere scoffed, taking a big bite of her toast in defiance.

"No chance," she tried to say, spewing crumbs left and right. She took a moment to finish chewing, swallow and clean the crumbs off of her teeth. "I'm holding on to those for as long as I can," she said, forcing her legs to move faster. "Didn't you hear Reynald? I may never have pancakes like that again." Saeana gave a laugh that sounded like a squirrel chattering and skipped back and forth across the dirt road. Shadowmere allowed it; her friend didn't get too far ahead, she just burned her excess energy by running around in circles like a small dog who hadn't been let outside in two days.

As they made their way down the road, the fight a distant blur in her memory, Shadowmere managed to keep pace with Saeana. Having burnt herself out in short order with skipping and galloping back and forth while Shadowmere plodded along, their speeds were now almost comparable. Shadowmere continued to nibble on her toast from the tavern, the jam making her lips a darker purple than usual. Looking her over, Saeana raised an eyebrow.

"You're seriously going to wear that outfit to the priory?" she asked, eyeing Shadowmere's mostly skin ensemble. "You're going to wear **that** in front of priests?" Shadowmere raised an eyebrow seductively.

"I can take it off, if you think it'll help," she said, putting her hands on the buttons of her revealing vest. Saeana rolled her eyes and shook her head, blocking her view of Shadowmere's impending striptease.

"That's okay, I don't know that any of them would survive the encounter," she sighed. "Not to mention 'Lefty' is probably all bruised." Shadowmere scoffed with genuine amusement.

"It is," she agreed, looking down her top at her swollen breast. "But no non-Dunmer could tell," she said, trying to suppress the bitter memory of the Cheydinhal guard not believing her tales of Tavrel's abuse because they couldn't see the marks. "Besides," she added, hurrying the mention of the painful experience from her mind. "These are the same monks that reared the 'one and only' Reynald Jermane, so Azura knows what he's exposed them to."

"I can't argue that," Saeana laughed, slowing her step a little, her energy starting to wane. "Do you suppose we should mention his name?" Shadowmere shrugged, shaking her head and genuinely not sure what to say.

"I don't know. It seems like we could get into serious trouble if we do," she trailed off, reconsidering her idea and narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. "Then again they might be glad to know he's still alive."

"They might be," Saeana said pensively. "Then again…" she trailed off, raising her eyebrows and letting Shadowmere fill in the blanks.

"Very true." Shadowmere admitted, knowing the monks might be just as happy to have the young man out of sight and out of mind and his fate a mystery.

As the two approached the small priory, an old Dunmer man tending to the sheep watched them carefully. His hair was the color of trodden snow, and in Shadowmere's opinion, he looked as though he had fallen out of the ugly tree and violently struck every branch on the way down. He wore a well-worn blacksmith's apron and old leather pants that were older than Shadowmere and Saeana's ages combined, both articles of clothing covered with soot and dirt. Getting closer to them, she was surprised when he let out a chuckle.

"Who won?" he asked, clearly eyeing their bruises, cuts and various other injuries. Other than her distorted reflection in the odd puddle or two they had passed, Shadowmere had no idea what the fight had left her looking like. _"I must look like crap if this guy's commenting."_

"It was a tie," she said, before Saeana could claim she had sustained the worst injuries. Since hers were more visible, and Shadowmere didn't feel like telling this stranger about her more embarrassing injury, he would likely believe Saeana had sustained a worse beating and was therefore tougher.

"Well, I'm the shepherd here," the man said with casual friendliness. "Eronor's the name, and this is Weynon Priory."

"We're here to see Jauffre," Saeana said, her face resolute. Shadowmere knew what she was doing; every time she had to do something like this, her friend would hyper-focus on the task at hand, drowning out distractions like social niceties and the like. Coming down from her breakfast high probably wasn't helping much either.

"If he's not sleeping or eating, then he'll be fussing with his books I reckon over in the priory house," the old shepherd said, pointing toward the nearby buildings. "One of the other brothers could probably give you more specific directions." Saeana looked to Shadowmere, her battered face forced into a calm countenance, but Shadowmere knew she was reeling inside.

"I'll wait here," Shadowmere said, urging her on her way. She knew her friend probably wanted her to go in with her, but taking into account what she wore, her presence probably wouldn't be a great boon to Saeana's credibility. Saeana sneered briefly at her.

"Thanks," she muttered, not appreciative of Shadowmere's consideration. As the annoyed woman stalked toward the priory, the shepherd looked to Shadowmere, nodding toward Saeana.

"Don't get too many folks passing through here these days. She your sister?" he asked chidingly. Chuckling, Shadowmere shook her head, watching Saeana open the door and proceed into the building.

"Not by blood, but for lack of a better word, I suppose we are," she said, not sure how to explain their friendship, but almost certain she would be committed if she claimed to have been Saeana's horse. "I'm Shadowmere." She offered her hand, the old man hesitating before shaking it.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said simply. "I don't too often socialize with people who aren't monks or sheep." Shadowmere nodded, eyeing all the sheep in the immediate area.

"I assumed as much," she said, rubbing the back of a lamb that nuzzled her calf. "How long have you been doing this?" she asked.

"Too long to remember," he said, scooping up the lamb and slinging it around his neck like a boa as he walked over to the stable and grabbed a rake in his hands, his dark fingers heavily armored with calluses. "Long enough to remember serving Uriel Septim when he had first been crowned Emperor." She nodded, trying to imagine the man serving as a guard.

"Were you in the Blades?" Her question garnered a nonchalant shake of the head from the old man, not disrupting his walk over to the sheep pen.

"Imperial Legion," he said, starting to muck out the hay, his living boa still content on his shoulders. "I've been there through all the fun, but after awhile I decided that I would be better off serving as a herder than a soldier. Sheep have infinitely fewer death threats than emperors." Shadowmere chuckled as she followed Eronor toward the sheepfold.

"Playing watchdog isn't always a great deal, but it has its moments," she agreed, thinking of all the times she had been the one line of defense against a master or mistress being killed. There had been a considerable number of those times, some resulting in success, some in failure, but all giving her the pleasure of seeing the shock on her then current owner's face when an animal, normally thought of as skittish and easily frightened, rose to their defense.

"You've been a bodyguard before?" The older shepherd looked at her with some degree of surprise. She wrinkled her nose, waving her hand as though she was wiping the condensed steam off of a metal surface and making her vision clear again.

"In a manner of speaking," she said vaguely, not wanting to get into the whole story of her life with someone she hardly knew. Fortunately, he didn't pry.

"Those were some times," he said, shaking his head at the memories. "During Jagar Tharn's little adventure, we were on duty pretty much all hours, without even an emperor there to defend, as it turned out. We were each allowed two hours of sleep, and that was split into four half hour naps throughout the day." Shadowmere shook her head.

"That must have been rough," she commiserated. Even as a horse she had slept more than that per day. Eronor shrugged.

"It wasn't pleasant, but it was part of the job," he said, continuing his work. "But the problem was that you'd get so tired that things would stop being real. You'd see things that weren't there, everything's a dream or an illusion." For a moment, the memory of a time long past threatened to overtake the cool composure of the ugly old shepherd before he shook his head, as if to shake off the thoughts. "It's hard to defend against the imaginary." Shadowmere chortled, knowing exactly what he meant and nodding in agreement.

"Not impossible, but certainly difficult," she agreed, rubbing the lamb's head as it stretched its neck out to see her again. _"Animal magnetism,"_ she thought with amusement. "Can I hold it?" She asked, rubbing its ear.

"Sure," he said in surprise, setting down his rake, lifting the small creature from his shoulders and placing it in her arms. "You like animals?" His question wasn't really one of interest, merely something to keep the conversation from dying.

"Not particularly, but this one seems sweet," she said, rubbing its head as it nuzzled against her neck and under her chin.

"His mother was killed by a bear," he said, his face twitched with anger and loss that his voice didn't reflect. "And ever since then he seems to bond to anything female that's not a sheep," Eronor said, making his way toward the back of the pen. "He likes the ewes too, but it's almost like he doesn't want anything that reminds him too much of his mother, like he's…remembering her, or honoring her." The old man shook his head, while Shadowmere smiled with almost foolish amusement. Not because she thought the shepherd was crazy, but because he seemed to truly equate these animals to himself, as Hannibal Traven had done. Perhaps it wasn't high intellect, or overexposure to arcane elements that made people see beyond what was before them.

Unfortunately, the unattractive man saw her smile and, she assumed, he thought she was mocking him. He blushed fiercely and busied himself with the rake. "Prior Maborel's horse is his favorite," he said quickly, hiding his face in the shadows. "And the dog, but he's been known to follow the other mares around as well." Shadowmere smiled, holding back the entertained giggle hiding in her throat; her guess at animal magnetism hadn't been far from the truth. As she wandered around the open area of the yard, Shadowmere caught sight of the herd of sheep, laying in a big pile in the center of the pen, though one looked slightly out of place. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was actually a large, shaggy white dog, laying sprawled out in the sun. The only way she knew for certain that it was a dog was that it wore a collar with spiked metal around its neck, something the sheep were lacking.

"I didn't even see the dog there," she said, nodding toward the animal. Eronor smiled as he continued raking out the pen, making sure to avoid hitting Shadowmere with the old, dirtied hay.

"I forget she's there sometimes," he admitted, continuing his work. "She's been raised with the sheep, so she thinks she is one and defends the herd as such. When the lamb's mother was killed, I found the dog latched onto the bear's neck, even though she had claw marks bleeding on her side. She managed to chase off the bear on her own, but we almost lost her." Shadowmere shook her head in meager surprise at the dog who now lazed around with her family as though she didn't have a care in the world. It shouldn't have surprised her that a dog would defend sheep; Hannibal's horse had defended her master to the death. She didn't count her own acts of defense as genuine bi-species protection. Whenever she had defended anyone while she was in horse form, whether the person being defended knew it or not, they were being protected by another person.

"She seems to have recovered pretty well," she said rubbing the lamb's back. "Does she have a name, or is she just one of the sheep?"

"We call her Maremma," he said, not breaking the rhythm of his pitching. "But she doesn't really pay us much mind when we call her. She'll come at the smallest bleat, but not when we say her name. She's too much of a sheep to really be a dog anymore." Shadowmere said nothing, watching the dog interacting with her ovine peers, the dog unable to see the subtle differences that existed between them. Shadowmere began to wonder if that was how Penny had seen Hannibal; if he was just another horse she needed to take care of, or if she believed she was actually a person, just as he was. She looked at the lamb in her arms who looked back at her with unmitigated trust; did he believe she was another sheep, or that he was a child? She thought about how many people she had protected over the years, all the masters and mistresses and their companions she had kept from harm. It was true she had done a great deal, but it had all been done on the basis of Hannibal's words.

"_And as long as you defend your caretaker…you will not die."_ She stroked the lamb who bleated his displeasure at having been ignored while she considered the nature of self-awareness.

"Sorry buddy," she murmured, rubbing his head as he put his mouth around the end of her nose, drawing a reluctant smile from her. "I'm all yours now." The lamb bleated in satisfaction and released her nose.

"While you're waiting for your friend, do you have any armor or weapons you need repaired?" Eronor asked, taking a fresh bale of hay and tossing it into the stable, breaking up the clumps with a pitchfork and distributing it evenly.

"I guess my sword could use some shining up," she offered, freeing one of her arms and pulling her partially sheathed weapon off her back, the angle not allowing the weapon to rest in its scabbard. Setting down the pitchfork, he brushed off his hands and took the beaten daedric longsword from her hand. Sliding it out of the scabbard, Eronor whistled at the sight of the finely crafted, but badly damaged, weapon.

"Fire enchantment?" he asked, examining the pommel, which was made with a gem the same brilliant red as Shadowmere's eyes.

"Yeah," she said, shifting the lamb back into both of her arms. She didn't pretend that she understood the magic behind the process of recharging the enchantments in her sword, but she knew that weapons with fire enchantments had a red insertion gem. When the weapon needed recharging, she would insert the filled soul gem into the pommel, which would somehow melt and absorb the inserted soul gem, the process finished when the pommel gem re-hardened. The weapon would then continue to rain down fiery damnation on those who vexed its wielder. It was a good system. "I can smith, but I don't know how to work enchanted stuff." She had watched farriors work on her horseshoes many a time and had learned a thing or two about the craft, but very few horseshoes were enchanted.

"Well, I don't know what you've been doing to bend a sword of this quality this badly," Eronor commented as he continued to inspect the weapon. "But I don't know that I'd feel comfortable talking to you if you told me." He motioned for her to follow him to the forge. "I can't recharge it, but I can straighten it and clean it up a little bit." Burying the blade in the embers, the smith pumped the bellows a few times, the coal turning from orange to yellow to bright white yellow, to white.

"How can you stand the forge in this weather?" she asked, moving the lamb to her other arm and sighing with relief as the sweat that her skin had accumulated under the wool evaporated in the heat. Eronor shrugged, pulling the sword out and giving it a few deliberate smacks with a heavy hammer.

"I barely notice it," he said, motioning toward the forge. "I've been around forges all my life, so I've built up a pretty solid tolerance for temperature. Not to mention that after you grab the wrong part of the metal a few times, your estimation of heat gets realigned." The thought of grabbing a burning hot piece of metal made Shadowmere cringe a little bit, causing the lamb to look at her curiously. Eronor stuck the sword back under the embers and pumped the bellows with a few deliberate strokes and pulled the piece out again, and striking it with a few more strong blows before dunking it in the cooling trough, the hiss of steam loud enough that the lamb jumped and let out a "baa!" of shock.

"That'll be fine if you just want to be done with it," Shadowmere offered, comforting the lamb with a gentle stroke on his face. Eronor shook his head, grabbing a bit of pumice stone from his apron and rubbing it down the length of the blade.

"I can't leave a job half done," he insisted, not taking his eyes off of his work. "Things like that wear on me." For a moment, Shadowmere wished that this old smith had been the one to whom the Emperor had entrusted the Amulet of Kings; he would have had it delivered before long before now. "It's not going to take long to finish this up." With her arms full of an amiable little lamb that looked to her with the adoration with which a devout worshiper looked at a goddess, Shadowmere didn't mind waiting a little longer. Not to mention Saeana was still inside the priory house and she wasn't going to leave without her. Feeling something cold and wet on the back of her knee, she whipped her head around to see the dog, Maremma Eronor had called her, staring up at her with suspicion.

"I'm not hurting him," she reassured the animal, who sat right on Shadowmere's foot, keeping guard over the small one that rested comfortably in her arms.

"She doesn't trust people," Eronor said, still focused on his work. "I'm actually surprised she's left you alone this long. She doesn't like when people hold the baby." Shadowmere stared back at the dog, who was pretending to watch Eronor at work, though her eyes kept darting back to the lamb, who was falling asleep in Shadowmere's arms. "This is all set," the man said after a few moments. "The metal's probably still a little warm, but it won't burn you to touch it," he added, sliding it back into the scabbard. Shadowmere smiled, glad that the blade now fit all the way into the sheath.

"Thanks," she said, taking back the sword and slinging the sword on her back, the cooled surface of the scabbard on her nearly bare back a welcome relief in the heat. Taking a few coins from her pocket, she made an offering of them to Eronor, who shook his head.

"Thank you, but it was enough to do something around here that didn't involve manure," he said with a grin, pushing her hand back.

"Come on, I'll feel guilty if I don't pay you for the work you did," she insisted, still holding out the money. Sighing, Eronor begrudgingly accepted the coins and went back to the stable, rummaging around wordlessly before reemerging.

"Normally I stay out of the affairs of those great folk who come through Weynon Priory to see Master Jauffre," he said with some cynicism, smacking the palm of his hand with the tool. "And I know you paid me, but I'm not comfortable accepting money. Go ahead and take this hammer. You might have use of it and I have others. Not much call for smith work around here in any case." Shadowmere smiled, accepting the gift gratefully. "This way, both our guilts will be alleviated." Shadowmere smiled, accepting the terms.

"Thanks a lot," she said, examining both peens on the instrument. "My friend's a fair smith, she'll appreciate this." Eronor took the hammer and pointed to one side of the flat surface.

"See this little cut here?" he asked, pointing out a small slice in the face of the metal. "If you hit the heated piece with this side, it's going to leave the impression of the slice in it. Use this side for cutting." Shadowmere remembered seeing farriors placing a cutting blade in the anvil before heating the piece they were working, and once the metal reached the right temperature, they would rest the white hot metal against the blade, and rend the piece in two by raining blows with an old hammer. Using an old hammer with imperfections in the surface kept from damaging better tools on the cutting blade. Turning it over, Eronor showed her that the other side was as flat and smooth as a frozen pond. "And make sure you learn from your friend how to take care of your weapons. Just because you don't know how doesn't mean you shouldn't learn," he chastised wandering past her and back out into the small pasture, picking up his pitchfork again.

"I'll try and work that in," Shadowmere said, disturbing the lamb once again to tuck the tool under her arm. "Honestly, how are you not hot?" she asked suddenly. "I'm sweltering." Eronor chuckled.

"Other than growing up around forges? I was born in Leyawiin," he said simply, looking a little displeased to be pitching hay again. "If anything I wish I had a sweater." Shadowmere shook her head, feeling very out of place between Saeana and Eronor. "You're not helping yourself by holding the little man there." Shadowmere looked down at the lamb who had snuggled himself into the crook of her elbow with his eyes drooping shut.

"I can swelter a little longer," she murmured, reassuring the creature by rubbing behind his ears with her fingernails.

A sudden bang behind her made Shadowmere and the lamb jump, and she turned to see the door to the priory closed and Saeana emerged, as stone faced as Shadowmere had ever seen her. _"I guess I'm done sweltering,"_ she thought, more reluctant to put the lamb down and start walking than she thought she'd be.

"His name's Martin, he's in Kvatch, let's go," Saeana said, not stopping to wait for her companion. Eronor looked at Shadowmere with raised eyebrows and they shared a perplexed look, before he found his voice.

"Well, we both have better things to do than stand here all day exchanging idle gossip," he said, leaning on his pitchfork for a moment before resuming his work. "Good day to you now." Raising an eyebrow at her hasty exit, Shadowmere rubbed the lamb's nose with her index finger before putting him down, much to Maremma's relief. The lamb stood beside the large white dog and nuzzled into her side. Giving a mock salute to Saeana, Shadowmere followed her, waving to Eronor, who still worked pitching hay.

"So it went well I presume?" she asked, hurrying to catch up with Saeana, whose pace was much quicker than before.

"If by 'well' you mean 'we now have to go and drag this guy out of a chapel miles from here, than yeah, it went about like that," she snapped. "If you hadn't opened your big mouth and talked me into coming here, we could be exploring a cave or getting drunk somewhere." Shadowmere scoffed, rolling her eyes and wondering why she hadn't taken the opportunity to leave Saeana behind; as much as she liked her, her friend's bitchy habits could be too much at times. Clearly, this whole affair had left her with a bitchiness surplus.

"Hey, you had the opportunity to do this on your own," she reminded her with a tense note in her voice. "If you had done this **before**, we could be doing all that instead of **this**." Saeana stayed quiet, but her lips pursed and quivered with anger. "What did that Jauffre person have to say?" Shadowmere asked, hoping to distract her friend from her simmering temper. Saeana sighed and her body and face relaxed slightly as she realized that Shadowmere wasn't going to dwell on the issue.

"He was helpful," she said quietly. "He had a box of goodies and he let me take what I wanted. The other monks offered help too. One actually offered me his horse." Shadowmere raised her eyebrow.

"Prior Maborel?" Saeana's surprise was obvious, and almost humorous, as she stood with her eyes as wide as if she had eaten a handful of horseradish.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Shadowmere shrugged, looking back at the horses and saw the little lamb trotting over to a paint horse.

"Wild guess," she said with a smile to herself. "Why didn't you take it?" Saeana's cheeks flushed and she laughed uncertainly.

"I guess I forgot that you're not one anymore," Saeana admitted sheepishly. Shadowmere gave a high pitched giggle through her nose, a phenomenon that occurred when she was amused enough to react, but not quite amused enough to actually laugh.

"If you're concerned that the good Prior's nag would transform on you, I don't think that one's much of a risk." Saeana shook her head, the sun striking her deep brown hair and giving it a bright copper tone.

"I've been surprised before," she said, looking up at Shadowmere. "But I don't think anything ever surprised me more than when I saw you fall down a horse and stand up…you." Shadowmere remembered that day well; it had caught her off guard also. It wasn't just any ordinary day when a curse, one that had been cast thirty years prior, was broken. She remembered that it hadn't been painful in the slightest when her body returned to its original form, and she had felt no fear, whereas her first transformation had been one of the most painful, and certainly the most terrifying, moments of her life. She shuddered a little at the memory of the sound her bones made as they broke and contorted into new shapes, unable to find a word to describe the experience.

"What was that?" Saeana asked, raising an eyebrow at her short lived quiver. "You've been doing that a lot today." Shadowmere nodded, rubbing her arms to push away the goosebumps.

"Just thinking about things," she murmured, looking over at her friend. "Some of it makes me shiver." _"As opposed to throwing up,"_ she added to herself. Saeana nodded.

"I didn't think it was from the cold," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Some of my 'things' make me shiver too," she said softly. "Do you want to talk about it?" This certainly hadn't been what Shadowmere was expecting to hear; she had thought Saeana was mad at her. Her moods changed so quickly that it seemed that even Saeana, at times, was confused by them.

"Do you want to hear about it?" she asked, trying to not sound like a smart ass. Surprised by Saeana's earnest nod, Shadowmere let out a puff of air past her lips, trying to find where to start. "When I was first transformed into a horse," she started, knowing that it was a fairly ridiculous sounding introduction to any story. "I had been hit with a paralyze spell, so I couldn't move. I could breathe, but that's about it. I couldn't open my mouth, couldn't scratch my nose, couldn't blink. Then the spell hit me; I felt like I was being torn to pieces." Saying the words out loud only made the memories more vivid, all her joints suddenly aching. "I really thought I was dying, but I was afraid that I wouldn't. All of my bones were breaking and changing shape and tendons and muscles were ripping, but I couldn't scream. I couldn't clench my teeth or breathe; I couldn't do anything. It was as though he had tied me up, gagged me and thrown me into the Corbolo River." Shadowmere felt a small amount of perverse satisfaction as Saeana shook and let out a noise of disgust, validating the way she felt.

"That's just flat out repulsive," she grimaced, while Shadowmere nodded fervently, her eyes wide as the horrific memory still lingered. "Is it possible to compare anything to that?" Shadowmere laughed, sensing an opportunity.

"Pain-wise, I doubt it. Disgusting-wise, I don't know, but you should try," she encouraged, knowing this had the potential to be a good conversation. "Worst pain ever, go." Saeana sighed, thinking for a moment before holding out her right hand, her ring and pinkie fingers extended.

"When I was fourteen, I had a sprained ankle and was using a crutch," she said, knowing her story wasn't nearly as dramatic as Shadowmere's had been. "I slipped in some mud and my crutch shot out from under me. When I fell, I went diving headlong into a wall with this hand stretched out, with these two fingers taking the force of the fall. I knew they were broken when I managed to get some of my senses back." She tapped her pinkie with her thumb. "This one healed fine but this one," she now tapped her ring finger. "This one now bends backwards." While Shadowmere's story had been vivid, Saeana's had the boon of a visual demonstration. Shadowmere cringed as her friend held up her hand and held all her fingers straight, the ring finger bending back another twenty percent.

"That's disgusting," she admitted, trying to think of something else that would match the level of repulsion. "Have you ever broken your nose?" Her friend nodded, smiling at the thought that she might not find the story as disgusting as Shadowmere might hope.

"Yes, actually," she said, slightly smug. Shadowmere wasn't at all concerned.

"Were you the one who set it?" she asked, her voice soft and her eyebrows dancing. The mere question made Saeana squirm and make another noise expressing her squeamishness, while Shadowmere grinned with unholy satisfaction. She knew it was going to be a good discussion they would have as they continued their journey to Kvatch.


	7. Chapter 7

Into the Fire

"You did what?" Shadowmere asked in disbelief at Saeana's most recent contribution to their epic tale of their various attempts at self destruction. It had been hours since they had left the priory and, instead of sleeping, they had kept walking, hearing tale after tale of gut twisting thrills and spills. Shadowmere had learned that Saeana had been something of a brute as a child; at one point, she had earned the nickname "The Dentist" because she had "accidentally" knocked out two of her friend's teeth while playing a game. The cringing part of the story had been that her friend had shoved the dislodged teeth back into her gum without a second thought. Shadowmere had countered the dental disaster story by recounting how Ilura had pushed her kneecap back into place, offering descriptions of the sounds that had resulted. Though each flinched and feigned disgust, Shadowmere knew she and Saeana were both relieved, however perversely, that they had such a dialogue going. It had been over a day since their fight by the waterfall, and the disgusting conversation had been the only thing that kept them both awake.

"Zemechelin was going to tag me so I dove over the side of the balcony," Saeana said, her voice jovial as she retold her story, but her vermillion eyes regretful of her past actions.

"But you dropped twelve feet!" Shadowmere exclaimed, strangely jealous of the tale. None of her painful, butt clenching stories had been about injuries sustained while playing with friends; hers had all been the result of Tavrel. She had never realized that children could hurt themselves simply playing with one another.

"And I landed on rose bushes and a pile of gardening equipment." Saeana was now purely bragging of her adolescent escapades. "I broke two ribs and sliced open my hand when I tried to break my fall on a broken shutter." She held up her hand, which bore a scar running from the top of her index finger down to the opposite side of her palm. "But Zemechelin never got me." Shadowmere had to laugh; Saeana was competitive before anything else. "Your turn," her friend said, nodding toward her.

"You tit-punched me yesterday morning, that was pretty heinous." Saeana rolled her eyes at the cynical comment.

"Come on, I know it sucked, but that's not nearly graphic or drastic enough. Come up with another one. You have to come up with something that tops broken ribs and a twelve foot fall during a game of tag."

Her response now required some genuine thought; during their long trek, the two women's conversation had encompassed most of the painful moments of Shadowmere's past but she was running out of material. She had a few winning tales left, but those were too painful to even think about, much less speak of. Those that didn't make her shudder simply made her want to cry.

"So, what prompted this whole conversation?" she asked, not pretending her question fell in line with the flow of the dialogue.

"I'm pretty sure you did," Saeana reminded her, a snide grin on her face. "You wanted me to try and top the story of turning into a horse."

"Yeah, but that was hours ago. Childhood injuries aren't exactly a topic that take so long to relive and brag about without some reason to keep talking about them." Saeana's eyes, to Shadowmere's surprise, suddenly lost the playfulness they had developed over the course of their trip, and her smile was quietly sobered. The silence that followed the change in tone made Shadowmere regret her question.

"The monks said," she started, her voice having all the force of the lamb Shadowmere had held in her arms hours earlier. "They said that we were probably going into danger. They said they would pray for us." While the effect it had on her companion was clear, Shadowmere was unsure as to why this was so significant for her.

"We've gone 'into danger' before Saeana," she assured, trying to fix what she had inadvertently broken. "We've come out the winners each time. Why does this have you so shaken?" Saeana shook her head, looking lost to Shadowmere.

"They're **praying** for us," she insisted, the basis of her unease becoming clear. "They don't think that we're going to survive without the Divines' intervention. It makes me a little sick to think about." Nodding with pretend understanding, Shadowmere furrowed her brow to emphasize her point.

"So naturally, we discuss the most nauseating things that have ever happened to us to take your mind off of blowing chunks by the side of the road," Shadowmere's face danced with sarcasm, though her words failed to bring any reaction to her friend's sullen countenance.

"We discussed the worst physical suffering we've ever endured and survived," Saeana corrected her, looking to her like a child lost in a crowd who had suddenly seen a familiar face. "It was kind of comforting to know how much we could survive." Letting out a long sigh, Shadowmere tried to find the words to console her friend. She had learned a long time ago that sometimes adding more words to a conversation wasn't always what would make it better. Of course she had learned that because she had no way of contributing outside of blowing her lips or whinnying. The knowledge was still valid though, and she intended to make use of it.

"How many people do you think those men see?" she asked, putting one hand on her hip as she kept walking, trying to exude her conviction and coolness. "And of those few people, how many of them do they send off into potential danger?" Saeana's shoulders lost a little of their tension, the tightness flowing off her back like a silk cape. "And would you rather they said that they **weren't** praying for us? I can't imagine that would award a whole lot of confidence. 'You go ahead and risk your lives, but we're going to save our prayers for the lepers and heathens.' " Shadowmere saw that, because of her best efforts, a smile had cracked into Saeana's face. "Believe me, this isn't going to be a big deal," she said, hoping that she hammered her point into the ground. Saeana's face had almost regained the carefree smile it had held for most of their trek when the sound of pounding footsteps thundered toward them.

"Run while there's still time!!" Shadowmere felt all her relief washing away from her like a rescue line pulled out of reach as an Altmer man ran screaming toward them, making Saeana's eyes widen. _"Really?"_ Shadowmere thought in exasperation, thoroughly pissed at the man's panicked entrance. _"You had to do this __**now**__?"_ Before she could voice her feelings, the man started yelling again as he reached them, grabbing Saeana by the shoulders and shaking her. "The guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time until they're overwhelmed!" Uncomfortable with the lunatic having his hands on her friend, Shadowmere immediately pushed him back, using her oppressive presence for the second time in two days, though this time it was on someone who was actually intimidated by it. Startled just enough to let Saeana go, the man backed down and Shadowmere said nothing. _"Man, am I always going to be like that?"_ she wondered, slightly unnerved at how instinctual it had been to leap to her friend's defense at the perception of a threat. _"I'm not a horse anymore, Saeana's not helpless, why am I still acting like her personal guard?"_

"Run?" Saeana clarified, ignoring the physical altercation. "Run from what?" The man's light brown hair frizzed and wild brown eyes were frenzied; his fear was as cold and powerful as the waterfall to which Shadowmere had awoken for so many weeks. He stank of sweat and smoke, the smell pushing a slimy knot up Shadowmere's throat which settled there until she turned her head away for a breath of fresh air.

"God's blood, you don't know, do you?" The man's distraught words were soft and filled with disbelief, Shadowmere's skin crawling. "Daedra overran Kvatch last night!" A shudder simply wasn't an adequate reaction to something so horrific, and Shadowmere, for a few seconds, felt nothing at all while her body decided what to do. "There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself!" he waved frantically toward the stone wall on the hill above them, where a spire of smoke rose ominously into a bruised sky. "There was a huge creature…something out of a nightmare…came right over the walls, blasting fire…they swarmed around it…killing…" Shadowmere still felt the knot in her throat, but she barely smelled the man anymore.

"The whole city can't be destroyed." Saeana's voice was infused with fear and disbelief, and Shadowmere thought better than to try and tell her to look up at the foreboding cloud above the city walls. Fortunately, the madman didn't share her sentiments as he pointed back toward the walls, doing what Shadowmere couldn't bring herself to do.

"Go and see for yourself!" he taunted. "Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We're all that's left, do you understand me?!" The man shook his arms, acting like a wounded animal cowering into the corner and surrounded by predators. "Everyone else is dead!" _"He's exaggerating,"_ Shadowmere told herself, the knot pulsing in her throat threatening to pop out of her mouth. Even as she told herself that what the man said couldn't be true, that there had to be others left alive, deep inside, she knew he spoke the truth. His stink seemed non-existent now.

"How did you escape?" Saeana asked, either putting on a strong façade or genuinely unmoved by the man's words. As she had been so stricken by his words before, Shadowmere suspected it was the former. Her question seemed to trigger a sense of calm in the man, his hysteria lessening and his words more subdued.

"It was…Savlian Matius…" he murmured with some degree of awe. "Some of the other guards…helped some of us escape…they cut their way out, right through the city gates. Savlian says they can hold the road…" A peace came over the man, and when it seemed his panic was washed away with the tides, it came back in a tsunami. "No…no. I don't believe him! Nothing can stop them! If you'd seen it you'd know…I'm getting out of here before it's too late!" The man spun around them, backing down the path they had just come up, still trying to warn them. "They'll be here any minute, I'm telling you. Run while you still can!"

"Look, mister-" Shadowmere started, only to be interrupted by the man who backed further down the path."

"You can say what you like," he said, dancing between the balls of his feet. "But I'm never going back to Kvatch!"

"I'm not asking you to," she said, doing her best to calm the man. "We're looking for someone named Martin," she said, trying to keep from chasing the man down and tackling him to stop his infernal twitching. She found it irritating and distracting, but she suspected it was the only thing that kept the High Elf from tearing himself apart.

"I knew a priest named Martin once," he said, continuing his a-melodic waltz some distance away. "I'm sure he's dead, just like the rest of them. They're all dead, don't you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah I got that much," she muttered, tiring of his dementia. "Who's Savlian Matius?" Continuing to back down the path, the man pointed toward the smoking walls.

"You'll find him at the barricade at the top of the hill. He's trying to hold what's left of the guard together." Without so much as another word, the man took off down the road, kicking up clouds of dust and disappearing in the haze.

"Have a nice day!" Shadowmere called sardonically, shaking her head. "Nut job," she added under her breath. Saeana looked over at her, the façade dissolved and worry now shadowing every curve of her face.

"I don't think he was lying," she said meekly. "I mean, you see the smoke just as much as I do, the air reeks of it." She looked up at Shadowmere, her eyes innocent. "Do you think we're too late?"

"That guy was out of his mind," she said quickly, not wanting Saeana to lose her motivation to get the priest out of Kvatch. "Yeah, something bad has obviously happened, but we still have a job to do. Maybe we can help them out somehow, but first things first; we need to get the priest." Saeana nodded complacently. It was odd to Shadowmere how she had to lead her by the hand through all this; Saeana was hardly a submissive personality. She had been an independent, seasoned fighter and she was more than capable of taking care of herself, which she had proven time and again. Was it their partnership that was making her so lax? Was Shadowmere assuming too much of the power in their relationship? Or was Saeana so genuinely unsure of herself in this matter that she turned to her in a need for direction? At this point it didn't matter; that could be addressed later if necessary, but for now they needed to act.

"Yeah," Saeana reluctantly admitted. "I suppose we ought get up there then." Shadowmere was relieved to see that she at least started walking on her own, jogging slowly to catch up with her. Shadowmere felt as though she was walking knee deep in bread dough that grew increasingly thicker the closer they got to the base of the winding path up to the city gate. And despite the billowing smoke, the air seemed to be getting colder, making Shadowmere's skin pucker. Surrounding a large central fire were a number of tents in varying sizes; some pup tents, some slightly bigger and some that were like canvas manors. A few stools and smaller, darkened cooking fires decorated the miserable miniature village, as well as a few trunks and crates. One tent had an anvil set up on a table outside of it, as well as its own fire pit. While the surroundings weren't altogether unpleasant to behold, the slimy feeling she had felt earlier, brought about by the stench of the crazed Altmer, now pushed its way back up her throat when she saw the faces of the people gathered in a makeshift campsite.

Most bore soot and a few had bright red burns, or bandages. She had seen dirty faces before, she had seen injuries before, but it was the distinct narrow clean streaks running down their cheeks that made a distant hurt swell in Shadowmere's chest. She tried to focus on the dirt on the ground in front of her, and not those whose tears fell upon it. She tried to listen to the wind that cooled her skin, and not the sound it carried, or the smoke in it that stung her eyes. Still, the words of the citizens managed to make their way to her unwilling ears.

"I've looked everywhere. Perhaps she still in Kvatch, in a basement, hiding?" A Bosmer murmured. Though his words carried hope, his voice was that of a man who had lost nearly all expectation of a positive outcome.

"It's possible," an Orc woman said, her tone much in line with the man's. "Maybe she got out and she's looking for you too." It was strange to Shadowmere, and a little upsetting, how willing these people were to continue to hurt themselves and each other after plainly having suffered so much pain. Why did the Bosmer set himself up for such inevitable heartache? And if he insisted on doing so, why did the Orc continue fostering this delusion? Whoever it was that the man was looking for was likely, considering the mounting evidence, dead and perhaps never to be found. It was obvious to Shadowmere, perhaps to Saeana as well, though Shadowmere found her expression difficult to read, that believing anything otherwise would cause more harm than good.

"Should we find somewhere to put on our armor?" Saeana's voice drew Shadowmere from her mental quagmire, her tone already taking on the same hopelessness that seemed to strangle the encampment.

"You think this might be dangerous?" she asked facetiously, looking at all the tents. "I'm guessing any of these things without stuff in it is game."

"Shadowmere," Saeana's voice conveyed slight surprise, as well as a certain disapproval. "This is where these people live now; would you really walk into someone's house, no questions asked?"

"We've done it before," she said, lifting her brow. "I'm pretty sure we weren't invited into that huge mansion up by the shrine to Azura." Saeana shook her head and sighed.

"There's a big difference between taking a few trinkets from someone who wouldn't miss them and violating the privacy of people who have lost everything," Saeana insisted, intent on making her point. Despite the sorrow all around them, Shadowmere felt her heart lift a little with pride at her friend's words.

"Well, look at you!" she murmured, nudging her with her hip. "We'll make an altruist out of you yet." Saeana scoffed and rolled her eyes, refusing to comment one way or another, and walking over to an old Redguard man. He sat on a beat up table near the anvil and makeshift forge, though he lacked the thick knuckles and calloused hands of a blacksmith. But in this place, where so much had clearly gone wrong, anything was possible.

"Excuse me," she asked him, though he barely lifted his eyes, much less his head, in acknowledgment. "Is there somewhere we can change? We're heading up to the city gate, we'd just like to be prepared." The man shrugged.

"You could do it right here and no one would notice," he muttered, shaking his head. "Those of us who aren't catatonic have our eyes so tattooed with the ugliness we've seen that we're blind to anything beautiful."

"_That's the most depressing compliment I've ever heard,"_ Shadowmere thought dismally, almost hating her own pleasing appearance. She wished for a moment that she still had her disfigured nose, her scarred face, her hooves, anything that would make the man look at her. It was a bittersweet gift, not having her marks from all she had endured. True, she was more aesthetically pleasing, but now no one would ever believe her regarding what had happened during her abysmal childhood. It wasn't as though she wanted to tell many people about that time, but on the rare occasion when she could give sympathy, her credibility would be called into question and her commiseration would be dismissed. _"With the scars they could see who I really was."_ Shadowmere sighed but knew that, given her lifestyle and habits, there would be plenty of opportunities to garner new marks.

"For modesty's sake," Saeana said, once again speaking to the old man. "My friend here is shy." Her joke went over the man's head, as he wasn't even looking at Shadowmere or her daring outfit. The man jerked his thumb toward one of the tents.

"Use mine," he muttered. "I just can't sleep. I lie down and close my eyes but I can't stop thinking about it." Saeana hurried in, closing the flap behind her and leaving Shadowmere in awkward silence with the man.

"So, what's your name?" she asked, leaning against the table beside him. "I'm Shadowmere, by the way." The man glanced at her for a fleeting moment before averting his eyes once more.

"Boldon. What do you want?" She shouldn't have been surprised by the man's curt words, but she suspected that he had very little capacity left for tact.

"What…" She wasn't even totally sure how to ask the question properly. "…happened here?" she asked, overlooking his terse response. The man scoffed, glancing over at her, for an instant before examining the darkened calluses on his hands.

"Hirtel didn't clue you in?" he asked. "Our former village idiot."

"Was he the Altmer screaming that everyone was dead?"

"Yep. He's been the one reminding us all of what happened; because, you know, the stink of burning flesh, the living in tents and the annihilation of everything we've ever known wasn't enough to remember that night by." Though his words were bitter, Shadowmere raised her eyebrows.

"So you **can** tell me what happened?" She tried not to sound too enthusiastic to hear about something that was destined to be terrible. Boldon sighed heavily, looking as though he knew that the next thing he touched would give him a static shock.

"Late at night, when we were all asleep, a door to Oblivion opened." His voice was empty, like the sound of an abandoned house, where family portraits still hung. "Daedra came out and set fire to the town. Many people died, but some," he motioned to the rag-tag group of people around them, "got out alive." Shadowmere didn't want to press him further, but she had another question which had some relevance to the job she had undertaken with Saeana.

"Do you know what happened to a man by the name of Martin?" Even the sound of what had to be a familiar name didn't shake the man out of his complacency.

"If you mean the priest I don't think he made it out of the city. Very few of us did. But Savlian Matius might know more. He's in charge of the city guard that's defending the camp. You'll find him at the barricade at the top of the road. He's still trying to hold what's left of the guard together." The old man seemed to take some level of peace from the knowledge that at least some were still trying to protect them, despite what sounded like overwhelming odds.

"It's the smell really." A voice across from her made Shadowmere look up. An attractive young Nord woman in a tattered blue dress now spoke. "Smoke and fire. And something worse. In the ruins." Though the woman's words didn't follow the conversation she had been having with Boldon, Shadowmere suspected that the woman just needed someone to listen to her. She was good at listening.

"This all just happened last night?" she pressed, garnering a nod from the woman. "What did you do before all this?" she asked, trying to focus the woman's mind elsewhere while she braided her waist length hair.

"Alchemy," she murmured while Shadowmere twisted her braid into a bun on the back of her head, pinning it in place with two hair pins.

"Lost all my equipment in the attack so I don't know how I'm going to get back on my feet. I can't in good conscience charge for the few potions I got out with, not when the people here have as little as I do, if not less." Shadowmere made a note that, should she find any alchemical equipment, she ought to bring them here before selling them.

"Your turn," Saeana murmured, tapping her on the shoulder and motioning toward the now empty tent. She was now clad in the armor that she had been given when she was initiated into the Dark Brotherhood. It was similar to the armor Shadowmere had worn since she was fifteen, but Saeana's was of a slightly lower quality, the leather thinner and the enchantments on it weaker. Her Daedric bow was fastened to her back, framing her quiver of elven arrows.

Nodding toward the young woman and the old man, Shadowmere jumped into the tent and closed the flap. Though she was a little cooler than she had been earlier, she wasn't looking forward to putting on her worn, black leather armor. It had been weeks since she had worn it, and she wasn't sure that it would still fit after so many weeks lazing about and drinking beer. Letting her hacked short pants fall to the ground, she pulled the bottom part of her armor over her legs, struggling to pull it over her slight paunch, confirming her fears.

"It's not by much," she lied to her stricken sense of self-esteem, "And it's possible that he leather shrunk a little from not wearing it." Satisfied with her excuse, she unlaced her boots just enough to pull them over her calves. Grunting a little as she yanked the leather cuirass around her body and laced it shut, though she had to tug a little tighter than she was used to.

"Damn beer," she spat, knotting the strip of rawhide securely and beginning the process of lacing the top and bottom together. That was one advantage Saeana's armor had that Shadowmere's didn't; her armor was all one piece, and only had to be laced once up the side. Then again if she had to pee, Saeana was required to completely disrobe. In that case, Shadowmere preferred her method. Tying off the lacing around her waist, she set her sights on fastening her boots to her greaves. Securing all the pieces of her armor together made it a little sturdier and kept her skin from being exposed as she moved, but it was certainly time consuming.

Finally, her lacing done, she emerged from the canvas shelter and strapped her baldric around her waist, adjusting it so that her sword was resting along her left leg and carried her shield under her arm. "You ready?" she asked, Saeana now leaning against the tent support, staring toward a man standing alone near where the path began to slope. Her friend nodded toward the man before looking back at her, her concern written in her eyes.

"He's been standing there forever," she murmured. "Just muttering to himself and shaking." Shadowmere stared at the man in question, furrowing her brow and watching as the man paced back and forth, shaking his head.

"Have you talked to him? If I had to guess, he's probably seen something that the others haven't. He might be able to give us some insight." Saeana shook her head and, without waiting for further comment, Shadowmere started toward the man, already feeling as though something wasn't quite right. The air around the Imperial, a priest from the looks of it, stank of acrid piss and madness, and the sound of the man's incoherent mumbling made her ears strain to hear.

"Are you sure about this?" Saeana asked, nodding toward the white haired man, whose pacing only increased as they approached. "I don't know that he wants company." Shadowmere said nothing, but agreed with her friend nonetheless. Still, if the man had information that could help them, he would have to get over his apparent xenophobia.

"Excuse me," she said as they got closer. The man's pacing stopped and he stared directly at the two Dark Elves; he was the only one of the entire encampment to look either of them in the eye. Shadowmere didn't know if that was good or bad.

"Hope is gone," he droned despondently. "The Imperial line is dead. The Covenant is broken. The Enemy has won." Looking at one another, Shadowmere and Saeana each mirrored the other's raised eyebrows and Shadowmere, for some reason, found herself choking back giggles.

"Alright then," she said after a moment of searching for the right words and pushing incredibly inappropriate laughter down her throat. Those **weren't** the right words, but they were the best she could come up with. _"At least I didn't laugh,"_ she consoled herself. "What covenant are you talking about?" The man stared at her for an uncomfortable half a minute, his feuillemorte eyes assessing her with disappointment.

"The Imperial line is dead and the gods have forsaken us." As he spoke, he walked closer to Shadowmere, the stink of his robes almost moving on its own accord. "Where is our blessing?" he asked softly, his voice tense with the pain of betrayal, his nose almost touching the end of hers, his breathe stale and only slightly improved from the smell of his robes. "Where is our protection? Where are our gods?" She stayed quiet, hoping the man wasn't expecting a response. "The Enemy triumphs, and we die alone." His face was twisted into a twitching snarl, Shadowmere was more than a little uncomfortable as his breath brushed against her lips.

"What enemy? Who's the enemy?" Shadowmere had never been more grateful for her friend than when Saeana spoke up, drawing the man's attention away from her. Though she was certainly uneasy about the proximity of their bodies, Shadowmere found herself distracted by pity for the man. She had no place in her life for the gods, but this man had believed at some point. Now he was trapped in some horrific nexus between what he had believed and what he had seen, and it was causing him terrible pain.

"Lord Dagon is the Enemy," he muttered, turning toward Saeana, his madness now fixed on her. "He is the Prince of Destruction and the daedra are his servants. The Chapel is cast down and the faithful…my friends…all dead. The Enemy has won, and we are destroyed." Before he could reach Saeana, Shadowmere grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from the crazed priest, not wanting a repeat of their encounter with Hirtel.

"We'll see what we can do about that," she said quickly, already making her way up the hill. "Try not to worry." The man merely stared at her, emotionlessly watching them as they made their ways up the path.

"So next time we find a crazy person, we leave him alone, right?" Saeana murmured, lifting an eyebrow at Shadowmere.

"Agreed," she sighed, blowing out her cheeks. "Thanks for bailing me out."

"You too." Shadowmere tucked a stray lock of her ebony hair back into place as they rounded the first curve in the path. "Do you suppose when he said 'Lord Dagon', he actually meant…?" Shadowmere looked over at Saeana who looked a little skeptical.

"Mehrunes Dagon?" Shadowmere finished, receiving a nod from Saeana. "I don't know. The man was obviously out of his mind, I don't know that I'd believe anything he said. On the other hand, I don't know what, other than the Daedra Lords, would be able to cause this much devastation."

"I know," Saeana said, biting her fingernails, trying to hide her nervousness. "But then again, why would a Daedra Lord come from Oblivion to Tamriel?" Shadowmere shrugged.

"Why do they ever come?" she asked, swinging her shield onto her back and shaking her arm to wake it up. "Reign destruction, test faith, remind humanity that they're still the bosses." It reminded Shadowmere of living under Tavrel's tyranny; things were peaceful until he decided that he needed to prove he was still the unquestioned authority. Then hell and damnation would follow for as long as it took for him to feel like he was in control again.

As the two women continued their ascent, Shadowmere noticed that something odd was happening to the sky. While the sun had been hidden for some time, the grey sky was now boiling into an angry orange, and rolling into a bitter red. Her mind jumping backwards to their daedric encounter in the forest by their campsite, Shadowmere remembered the same thing happening to the sky in the woods. Unsettled, she found the loose tendril of hair she had tucked back into place and began twisting it in her fingers, the silky texture giving her some small amount of peace.

"Oh gods," Saeana said, taking a breath in horror. "Well, when the Daedra Lords come to Tamriel, I think I know how they get here." Extending her arm, she pointed at an abomination the likes of which Shadowmere was all too familiar.

"Almighty Azura," she breathed, dropping her hair and not wanting to see what now met her eyes. It was remarkably similar to the thing they had found in the woods by their campsite, but this was frightening on a different scale. The anathema that met her eyes was beyond belief, beyond reason, and despite that, it was. A portal, for lack of a better word, made out of fire, brimstone and the darkest of magics, stood directly in front of the city gate and was perhaps twice the size of the one the two women had found in the woods. As if the sight of the monstrosity wasn't intimidating enough, where the one in the woods had let out an eardrum searing noise, this one let out a muted roar, compounded by intermittent clanging of invisible chains. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," Shadowmere murmured.

Before the gate, a barricade of split, sharpened posts served as the only protection a very small number of city guards had to call their own. On the other side of the barricade, the hulking execration whelped a seemingly endless litter of daedra, scamps, clannfears and spiders which, from the looks of the pile of corpses created by the guardsmen, had been coming for some time.

"What did you get us into?" Saeana said absently, staring up at the screaming gate. Shadowmere just shook her head.

"I don't know, but it's not just us in here." From the few people stumbling around the makeshift town center, and the few city guards forcibly vigilant beside her, Shadowmere wasn't sure whether it was a good thing to be one of the few in the "here" to which she referred.

"Stand back, civilian!" a man shouted as charged toward them. His russet eyes were dim with exhaustion and framed with dark circles and while she was sure the man was only in his forties at the oldest, in the cruel red glow of the gate and sky, Shadowmere thought he looked at least a hundred years old. "This is no place for you," he chastised further. "Get back to the encampment at once!"

"_I'm not your bitch,"_ Shadowmere thought with indignation, though she thought better than to actually say it to the soot and sweat-streaked Imperial. "You're Captain Matius?" she asked instead, earning an abrupt nod from the Imperial.

"What happened here?" Saeana asked in horrorstruck awe of the imposing gate. The man scowled deeply, glaring at her, enraged that he would have to explain something so obvious to someone with clear vision.

"We lost the damned city, that's what happened!" he barked, making Saeana jump and Shadowmere put her shoulders up defensively, ready to pounce should the need arise. Fortunately their reactions alone sobered the captain, who lowered his voice when he spoke again. "It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed, couldn't even get everyone out," his words were dismal as he nodded toward the city walls. "There are still people trapped in there. Some made it to the Chapel but others were just run down in the streets. The count and his men are still holed up in the castle. And now," he sighed in frustration. "We can't even get back into the city to help them, with that damned Oblivion gate blocking the way." Shadowmere could see the displeasure Captain Matius had with himself, the torment bringing more sweat dripping onto the headband he wore over his cropped short ash brown hair.

"We're looking for someone named Martin," she said, knowing nothing she said could make the man feel any better. "They said that you might know where he is."

"You mean the priest?" he asked, getting an eager nod from both Dunmer. "Last I saw him, he was leading a group toward the Chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped in there with the rest of them, safe for the moment. If he's not…" Captain Matius shrugged, unable to finish the sentence. Though the news wasn't good, it was the best for which they could have hoped and Shadowmere felt a bit lighter from the news. Saeana, looked less so.

"What will you do now?" Saeana asked, her eyes laden with sympathy. The beleaguered captain shook his head and scoffed.

"The only thing we can do," he said, his voice a monument to despair. "We try to hold our ground, that's what. If we can't hold that barricade, those beasts could march down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left. It's all I can do now." The hopelessness in the man's words, the level of sorrow in his voice made Shadowmere's eyes burn. How people could have so little for which to live and still continue to exist was one of the great mysteries Shadowmere had yet to solve.

"I'm sorry," Saeana said softly, clearly unsure about how to proceed, to which Shadowmere could relate. As urgent as their errand was, it was uncontested that there bigger fish that needed to be fried. If they could take a moment and offer some release to the man's frustrations, it seemed like the least they could do and still call themselves a part of humanity.

"My home," he muttered. "My goddamn home in flames!" His change it mood was dramatic and quick as he motioned toward the still burning city, as though tossing a lifeline. "It kills me that I can't get in there and DO something!" He shook his head again, looking over at the glowing homunculus. "We couldn't have been any less prepared for this. Seems like they came out of nowhere. There were just so many of them…If only I had some way to strike back at the enemy. But," he trailed off, gesturing toward the remaining city guards, who made their ways back from their most recent skirmish with the daedric forces. "We can't leave the barricade until that Oblivion gate is closed." Shadowmere's eyes widened as an epiphany struck her with the impact of an ogrim titan.

"Tell me about this Oblivion gate," she said, putting a hand on her hip as she thought, furrowing her brow a little. Captain Matius gave her a doubtful look, lifting his sweat- burdened eyebrow.

"Some kind of portal to Oblivion," he said shrugging and shaking his head, not knowing what else to tell her.

"Yeah, I got that much," she said simply. "What else can you tell me?" The man repeated his cynical shrug and head shake, as though there was nothing left to tell.

"The enemy used them to attack the city," he said motioning toward the torn, blackened ground before the city barricade. "They appeared outside the walls and daedra poured out! They've opened one right in front of the city gates. Until that's closed, the best I can do is to hold these barricades." Saeana sighed, while Shadowmere put her hands on her hips and sought the words buried so deep in her mind that they might as well have been absent.

"Alright, what can we do to help?" Saeana asked, her mind working more quickly than Shadowmere's. The captain chuckled without a smile.

"You want to help? You're kidding right?" Shadowmere and Saeana each gave a fleeting look at the other before looking back at him and shaking their heads independently. His eyebrows knitted together as he pondered their offer. "Hmm… If you're serious, maybe I can put you to use." He gathered a strange hopeful yet sarcastic look and looked at each of them in turn. "It'll likely mean your death though." The two nodded again; they had heard that before. "Are you sure?"

"We'll do what we can," Saeana said fervently. "But what is it that we need to do?" Nodding toward the portal, the captain visibly sneered at the unholy relic.

"I don't know how to close this gate, but it must be possible because the enemy closed the ones they used in the initial attack." Following his pointed hand, Shadowmere saw deep gashes around the gate that still stood. "You can see the marks on the ground where they were…with the Great Gate right in the middle." The man looked even more bogged down by the words he spoke than he had before. Shadowmere hadn't thought that was possible. "I sent men into the gate to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven't come back."

"_So that's what that is,"_ Shadowmere thought, watching Captain Matius's face curdle with guilt. Though she hadn't always understood how guilt felt, she had always known how it looked. It was scrawled almost permanently into Ilura's face when she was a child, but it wasn't something she had felt until after she had been a mare. That was knowledge she felt she could have lived without; understanding and feeling the pain and heartache she caused, whether intentional or not. Then again that lack of emotional knowledge had made her a fairly ruthless killer, something she regretted. _"I bet that's what he feels like,"_ she thought, looking at the already outmatched captain. _"A killer."_ After all, he was the one who sent his men into an unknown world, with no promises that they would come back, while he stayed in relative safety.

"If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're still alive, help them finish the job," the guard captain said, clearly not holding out much hope. "If not, see what you can do on your own." If nothing else, the man looked relieved that there was one less thing he had to do, and two fewer people under his command whose lives he had to risk.

"Anything else?" Shadowmere asked, pulling her sword out of its sheath in anticipation of what she was heading into.

"The best I can say is good luck," he said, a strange smile flickering on his face, as though he wanted to believe they would make a difference, but all logic demanded he employ cynicism. "If you make it out alive, we'll all be waiting for you."

"What if we don't make it out alive?" Shadowmere muttered, loud enough that only Saeana could hear. Saeana just rolled her eyes at her tactless sarcasm.

"Good luck, it's a brave thing you're doing." The man raised his arm in a farewell as the two walked toward the gate.

"Not a smart thing, but a brave thing," Shadowmere amended, inspecting her sword briefly and changing the grip just enough to give her a better defensive stance while Saeana pulled her bow off of her back and held it nervously in her azure fingers.

"And this is better than cleaning out caverns and picking locks how?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Why are we doing this instead of killing bandits?"

"Hey, we're going to another plane of existence," Shadowmere said, with more enthusiasm than was necessary. "How often can we say that?"

"You're going in?" Before Saeana could find an answer, an Imperial man, younger than the captain, but equally tired and forlorn, piped in. "You have my gratitude, but can I ask you something?" Looking the guard over, assessing how much of a threat he was, she decided that she could probably take him.

"You're not giving much choice in the matter," Shadowmere said, staring at him in all seriousness. The man looked confused and fell silent for a few moments, to Shadowmere's great amusement.

"What's your question," Saeana said with a sigh, trying to excuse Shadowmere's comment without calling attention to it and further confusing the already overwhelmed guard.

"Do you have a death wish?" he asked, his moss green eyes wide with shock. "Because there are easier and more comfortable ways to go."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shadowmere said, continuing to approach the gate. The smell of brimstone, sulfur and something more foul was nauseating, the odor sticking in her nose, throat and sinuses. For the moment, all she wanted was a sneeze, perhaps a few sneezes, however many it took to clear the smell from her head.

"Can we at least know your names?" the young guard asked. He seemed to have accepted the fact that he wasn't going to stop them from going into the gate that had swallowed so many of his comrades. "That way, when they erect the memorial, we're able to include you?" His comment was so intensely certain and grim that Shadowmere had to laugh outright.

"Gods, you are one goddamn ray of sunshine, aren't you?" she coughed out as she laughed, feeling somewhat punchy and somewhat hesitant to believe the man was genuinely this disconsolate. He hung his head and shook it sadly.

"After a few hours of this piece of paradise, you'd be on the pessimistic side too," he murmured morosely. "We've been collecting the names of the dead and missing; it's already in the triple digits. It's something productive we can do, it makes us remember that as tired as we are, at least we're better off than they are." Shadowmere was barely able to comprehend the bitterness with which the man spoke.

"I'm Saeana Pelegryn." Saeana's voice was soft, as though she knew that, in giving her name to the young guard, she was healing some small part of him.

"I'm Shadowmere." The guard's brow danced at the sound of her name.

"Shadowmere what?"

"Do you know enough Shadowmeres that you need a surname?" she asked, surprised that he would care enough to make sure he had her name correct. "Just remember I'm the Shadowmere with black hair." He nodded, smiling with just a little amusement amidst the annihilation.

"Fair enough," he consented. "Best of luck ladies." Nodding courteously, Saeana passed by the remaining guards, while Shadowmere gave her mock salute and followed.

"That was less than encouraging," she muttered to Saeana who grunted in agreement as they stopped in front of the gate. The sensory experience of the portal was now suffocating; the smell of brimstone and burnt flesh was almost palatable and stuck to the back of Shadowmere's throat like pustules. Her berry-red eyes stung with invisible smoke and scalding light, and her ears still rang with the baroque screech of the unholy magic that held the gate in place. Oddly enough, her skin slithered against her muscles and made her shiver at the relic's unnatural cold.

"It's like a fever," Saeana murmured, her gaze transfixed on the profane door. "It's so hot on my skin, but I'm so cold inside." Glancing over at her friend, Shadowmere didn't give herself time to notice how unnerved she looked before grabbing her by the hand.

" 'When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee.' " she murmured, as they stepped together through the molten gate under the watchful eyes of all the Kvatch guard, unsure whether they would return.


	8. Chapter 8

The Contest

The darkness into which the two women stepped was all consuming, sending Shadowmere's organs into her throat and her resolve into the soles of her shoes. Saeana's hand was still shut in hers, her fingers wrapped as tightly as they could be, and the sound of screaming seemed close enough to be inside her. Her chest burned and it was as though all the air was being sucked out of her. As she stood frozen to the spot her mind raced, just as she couldn't force her body to do, running toward a light glimmering in the distance, caressing something beautiful. She heard a gruff voice calling her by a sound she couldn't find a word for, then a gentler voice calling her by the same sound. It was a lyrical, almost childlike air that seemed to reach out to her with incorporeal fingers. The light was that which she followed so urgently each time she saw it in her dreams; nameless, ethereal, on the verge of sensing. She pushed herself further, the sound like a siren's song working on behalf of the brilliance so far away. As she got close, the light was so bright that she tried to close her eyes, but try as she might, she couldn't.

It wasn't until the muscles in her face started cramping up that she realized her eyes were already squeezed shut. As she let her eyes unclench, she realized she had her mouth open and was screaming so hard that she was in danger of asphyxiating herself. For the first time, she saw the world that surrounded her and had given birth to the gate that crowned into Kvatch. It was like standing in the middle of a festering boil, with red, cracked flesh land, and rotten pools of molten pus. The heat of disease burned her face and hands, but her insides shook with delirious chills. Broken pieces of architecture, bridges, columns, cruel towers, infected the wound and made it as unpleasant to see as to experience. Despite the feeling that she was merely a maggot in this wound, she stopped screaming; even if she was a maggot, she was alive. But though she quieted her own voice, she was aware that the sound didn't stop. Her ears and eyes were drawn toward her friend, who still stood with her eyes cringed, and her mouth agape, forcibly vomiting sound.

"Saeana!" Shadowmere had to yell to make herself heard over the shrieking. "Stop yelling, it's alright!"

"Shad?" she yelped, her grip on her hand tightening. "You're still here?"

"Yeah, open your eyes." Tentatively, Saeana blinked and looked around carefully before her glance rested back on Shadowmere. Realizing she was still clinging to her like a small, scared child, Saeana released her hand quickly and she blushed a brilliant aubergine, which brought a smirk to Shadowmere's face.

"Well, at least that wasn't embarrassing," she muttered, wiping her hands fruitlessly on her armor, as though she could wipe humiliation off along with the sweat of her palm.

"No, anything but embarrassing," Shadowmere confirmed facetiously. "Everyone stands still screaming at the top of their lungs with their eyes closed when they enter a new place." Already exasperated, Saeana rolled her eyes.

"I meant because no one's here to see it other than you," she elucidated. "That's what would make it embarr-"

"Thank the Nine!" The male voice made both Dunmer jump and snap into defensive positions as its owner ran toward them. The Imperial man wore the uniform of a Kvatch guardsman, and carried a battered shield with the same crest of a fox etched upon it. "I never thought I'd see another friendly face." The man was out of breath and flustered as he bent over before them, putting his hands on his knees, letting his head of shaggy, sand-brown hair hang around his ears. "The others…taken…they were taken to the tower!"

"_So much the better for them,"_ Shadowmere was tempted to say as she recoiled, wrinkling her nose and reeling at the stink the man gave off, close to the same smell of the gate itself, but mixed with gallons of perspiration.

"It's alright, what's going on?" Saeana said, not reacting to the man's odor. As much as Saeana claimed to not care about the fate of others, she was infinitely better at dealing with people than Shadowmere, who was ultimately doomed to give a damn.

"Captain Matius sent us in, to try and close the gate," he said, lifting his head, revealing his eyes which, though bloodshot, had irises the same brilliant lapis lazuli blue as Shadowmere's skin. "We were ambushed, trapped and picked off. I managed to escape but the others are strewn across that bridge. They took Menien off to the big tower, you've got to save him!" His ash brown hair streaked with soot, sweat and sanguine blood made his shaggy, lobe-length mane stand up and give him the appearance of a feral beast.

"Can you take us to him?" Shadowmere asked, feeling her mind focusing already on the task with which he had presented them. Like a bear shedding off a layer of water, the man shook his head, his eyes flashing with fierce aversion.

"I'm getting out of here!" he snarled, his dry, cracked lips splitting further with the ferocity of his words. Despite the feverish cold, a crack of white hot anger jolted through Shadowmere's brain.

"Look, you putz," she started acidly. Before Shadowmere could get out all her thoughts on the man, Saeana covered her mouth with her hand and spoke up.

"Fine, Captain Matius needs your help," she offered, not trying to stop him. The man's eyes lit up as though she had just told him that the New Life Festival was going to come twice a year.

"The Captain is still holding the barricade?" he asked incredulously, and to which Saeana nodded. "I figured I was the last one left alive," he said shaking his head in awe. "Alright, I'll try to get out of here and let the captain know what's going on."

"Yeah you do that," Shadowmere snorted, jabbing her sword into the ground and leaning lightly against it. "We'll be the ones in here, saving your friends." The man didn't hear her, or ignored her if he did, as he hurried back through the still glowing portal. "Dickhead," she spat out of sheer spite. She was surprised by the slap to the back of her head and turned to see Saeana scowling at her.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked roughly. "Aren't you the one who advocated helping people so recently?"

"I advocate helping those who can't, or those who are willing to help themselves," Shadowmere shot back. "He's still able to help, and if he cares about his friend enough to stay this long, he should be able to finish the job. But he's choosing to not finish the job, ergo he's a dickhead."

"Shad, he's been here for twenty-four hours at least!" Saeana exclaimed. "He can't possibly be in any shape to go rescuing anyone! How can you possibly say this is still his job?" Jerking her sword out of the ground, Shadowmere retorted with strained civility.

"If it's not possible for someone to do something, like if a mouse was being asked to pull a hog-cart, then yeah, I'd step in. But if a weak hog was being asked to pull the same hog-cart, then how is my intervention going to help? How is that hog ever going to be strong enough to pull the cart if someone always pulls it for him? So because he doesn't feel like pulling his cart, that makes him a dickhead." Saeana shook her head, clearly getting sick of her farm animal analogy.

"Alright," she sighed in surrender. "But the weak hog's back in Kvatch now, so let's do what we were sent to do." Though she had been upset by her reluctance to help before, Shadowmere wasn't sure she liked Bossy-Boots Saeana any more than Apathetic Saeana. "What do you suppose he meant when that man said 'they took so-and-so to the tower'?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say that it means that a group took one of his friends there," she said, pointing to the tallest structure she could see.

"Who are 'they'?" Saeana's voice tried to disguise its snide inflection, but was justifiably sick of Shadowmere's sarcasm.

"Intelligent daedra, I suppose," she said, knowing enough to stop before she had Saeana pissed at her in another plane. "Dremora, twilights, saints, seducers, maybe xivilai, anything able to function above the level of an animal," she said, looking out ahead of them, watching as two scamps walked with their strange, jerking, chicken steps. "I doubt that Daedra Lords have mortal servants within the realms of Oblivion."

"I doubt it too," Saeana said, also catching sight of the scamps. "But then why would they kidnap the guard instead of killing him?" Shadowmere gave her mildly amused, smileless chortle.

"Breakfast," she responded bluntly. "They don't have access to the best motherfucking pancakes in Tamriel." Shadowmere shuddered at her own words, the idea of the poor imprisoned man being roasted over a spit making her sick. Further sickened, she caught sight of a dead horse, laying in a pool of blood not far from where she stood. Her time in equine form gave her an overwhelming empathy for the brutally slain creature, and a sensitivity toward their pain and deaths, a complete turnaround from where she had been thirty years ago. It was unnerving, but she still considered this animal to be her brother, and to see him lying there, his white and brown patterned coat stained with blood drove a flaming stake through her heart and made her want to cry.

"So we go to the tower," Saeana started listing the steps they were about to undertake, unaware of Shadowmere's impending breakdown. "We find this Menien guy, we get him out and maybe he can tell us something about how to get this thing closed."

"Sounds good," Shadowmere said, turning her attention toward the scamps with predator-like intensity, knowing they were likely the killers of her former brethren. "Let's get to work." With little regard for stealth or the element of surprise, she darted down the path to her right and raised her sword over her head. As it came down, the blade slashed one of the scamps from the top of the skull and down diagonally, half of the creature's head sliding down like a visceral sled descending a grotesque hill as the body fell to the ground. Using the motion and weight of the blow to carry her around, she turned and swung again, slicing open the neck of the scamp, who fell with a surprised smirk on its face while the blood churned out.

She looked back to Saeana and grinned holding up two fingers, signaling that she was keeping track of how many beasties she had killed. In response, Saeana held up a single finger signaling her thoughts on Shadowmere's success. She hurried back to Shadowmere's side and pulled an arrow out of her quiver, making sure she was ready for any subsequent opportunities to overtake her.

"There's a bridge up there," she said, motioning toward the feeble bridge which looked to be easily the quickest way to the tall tower, where the last guard was allegedly being held. "Let's go." Charging toward the structure, Shadowmere reached the crest quickly; so quickly that she didn't have time to stop when she saw the opposite side of the bridge was on the other side of a twenty-five foot breach in the path. Throwing her body backwards in desperation to stop herself from going over the edge, the change in equilibrium caused her feet to slip over the lip. Without even time to scream, Shadowmere fell, dropping her blade with a clatter that rang like a death knoll, desperately twisting like a falling cat. To her disbelief, she managed to catch the stone with one hand, digging her nails into the impenetrable surface.

"Sae-!" was all she could cough out with her stomach and chest strained like an old rope hauling too much weight, fibers snapping left and right.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" Shadowmere, despite her unbelievable catch, didn't hold out much hope for a rescue and wished for just a moment that the smelly city guard hadn't run away.

"_The small hog can't pull a load that takes an oxen to move,"_ she thought, glumly. As much as she might want to, Saeana simply wasn't strong enough to be able to lift her back onto the ledge. Though her situation was dire, Shadowmere still ran over possible escape plans in her mind as she dangled precariously. _"Maybe if she grabs onto my belt I can pull myself back up…"_ The concept seemed unlikely even as it coursed through her brain. _"There's no way she has that kind of strength, and she'd probably just end up hanging down here with me."_ As the gentle calluses of her friend's hands wrapped around her wrist, a wisp of smoke shot past their arms and bounced off the nearby rubble, revealing its true form as an arrow.

"Saeana, archers!" she shouted, unable to feel any more exposed than she did at that moment; unless perhaps she had been naked. Saeana's hand quickly left her arm, while the wisps of smoke continued to zip past her. _"Thank Azura they're as good at archery as they are handsome,"_ she thought, assuming the attacking daedra were dremoras; she hadn't known other daedra to use something that required as much finesse as a bow.

The sound of the arrows slinging past her now doubled its tempo, and it was surprising to Shadowmere how quickly Saeana had started returning fire. Taking the chance at looking up, she watched her friend nocking an arrow, drawing back the line and releasing it in one fell swoop. She did it so quickly, it looked as though she was conducting an orchestra with one arm, with the arrow in her hand as her baton. _"Damn, she's good."_ Shadowmere had never taken the time to watch Saeana use her bow, since she was usually occupied with her own battles at the same time, but now that she had the opportunity to observe, she couldn't help but notice her skill.

As the dremoras' arrows continued to fly past her, she managed to get her other hand up on the ledge, spreading the strain to both arms, rather than just one. She was torn as to whether she was better off staying still or trying to swing to avoid the projectiles, unable to see where the archers were stationed. She opted to dangle as still as she could, assuming that if they hadn't hit her yet, they probably weren't going to. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning seared her right forearm, making her cry out in surprise and pain.

"Are you hit?" Saeana yelled, her voice giving the lyrics to the rhapsody of bow strings and the arrows descant. Glancing at the new wound on her arm, she dismissed it flippantly.

"Just a scratch," she strained to call back, her lungs feeling as though they were being crushed in her chest. "Kill them already!" Each fiber of her muscles was fraying and splitting and her hands were going numb, the stone ledge becoming increasingly harder to feel. She caught a glimpse of the lava over which she was suspended, the delirious heat wrapping like tentacles around her and made her stomach plunge suddenly. The thought of falling into that boiling viscous pool, unable to scream as her skin burned away and her lungs dissolved from the inside out from the inhaled lava, made her take a breath on instinct, just to calm herself. _"After all I've done, I'm __**not**__ going to die like this."_ Her resolution lent some amount of strength to her weakening arms, as she grunted and managed to wrap her fingers more securely around the ledge, the blood from her gash trickling down her arm beneath her armor.

Suddenly, the concerto ended with the percussion of Saeana's bow clattering to the ground and her knees falling on the stone beside her clenched fingers. "Hold on, I've got you." Saeana's face came over the ledge like the sun coming over the horizon and her firm grip shackled Shadowmere's arms, not allowing them to escape. At that moment, nothing had ever felt more wonderful in Shadowmere's life than Saeana's hands wrapped around her wrists; it was akin to having a full stomach after having been starving, or a soothing bath after having been filthy for far too long. "Can you pull yourself up?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"No, I can't get a good enough hold," Shadowmere grunted. "I don't think you can pull me up either." Saeana shook her head slightly, little more than a twitch.

"Is there any solid ground down there?" she asked, her face tense trying, Shadowmere suspected, not to show how distressed she felt. Straining her neck, Shadowmere looked over her shoulder, trying not to see the eager lava that practically salivated with the prospect of a tasty morsel. Behind her, there was no solid land within her reach but, to her surprise, she was treated to the sight of parched, cracked, but solid, land under the overhang in front of her.

"Yeah," she choked out, knowing the plan they were both concocting was desperate and stupid above all else. "If you can swing me, I think I can make it to the ground and then climb back up." She looked back up at her friend and judging by her expression, she was a little sickened by the prospect of swinging her companion over a pool of volcano barf on the off chance she might not plunge into it.

"Alright," she conceded. "Give me one second." Without releasing her hold, Saeana shimmied backwards on the bridge until she rested on her belly. "Alright, let go of the ledge and grab on to my arms." At that moment, there wasn't anything Shadowmere wanted to do less than let go of her lifeline and take the chance that her own weight might pull her rescuer into the same predicament as her.

"I need to turn my hands, so I can hold on your wrists," she said, wanting the greatest possible advantage for this suicide attempt.

"Okay, which hand first?"

"Let's go with the right." Shadowmere didn't particularly care which hand she started with, but the right seemed to be as good a choice as any. Saeana furrowed her eyebrows, a look of confusion darkening her features.

"Mine or yours?" She asked. Though the idea that they were dickering over right or left as Shadowmere hovered over a pool of lava was more than a little mindboggling, in the end, it was an important decision to make.

"My right, your left," she clarified. Saeana nodded her agreement.

"Whenever you're ready," she said.

"_What balls we have,"_ Shadowmere thought, letting out a breath and unclenching the fingers of her right hand. For a terrifying moment, she dangled once again by one hand before she managed to turn her hand and clasp it once again around Saeana's wrist. "Gotcha!" Saeana reassured her, securing her hold on Shadowmere's wrist. "One more." Shadowmere shuddered a nod.

"Yeah, one more," she tried to convince herself it would be that simple. Taking another breath, she once again let go of the ledge. "Holy shit!" she yelped, a short drop from the ledge and sudden stop as Saeana's grip caught her jarring her brain. Her friend had a hold of her before she could even have time to hang by one hand for long enough to blink. _"I underestimated her reflexes,"_ she thought, holding on tighter.

"Will three swings do it?" Saeana asked, her own voice sounding strained. Shadowmere nodded, her stiffening muscles barely allowing the miniscule movement.

"Let's go for it," she gasped, feeling her body continue to stretch beyond what she thought was natural. Knowing Saeana wouldn't be able to swing her body unassisted, Shadowmere managed to kick her legs out in front of her and started the motion. Keeping her feet together, she flung her legs backwards and forwards again, the swing carrying her farther.

"One," Saeana grunted, her jaw clenched with her efforts. Her shoulders screaming for mercy, Shadowmere forced herself to repeat the desperate wave with her body, feeling her hands slipping in Saeana's palms.

"Two," Shadowmere counted as she swung even further, certain that another swing would rip off her arms. Her stomach muscles may as well have already hit the lava with how they burned under her ribs.

"Three." Their voices were in unison as Shadowmere swung again, throwing her legs as far as she could. Surrendering the security of Saeana's slick fingers, with air like silken hair on her sweaty hands, Shadowmere fell through the air like an embroidery needle through a sampler. As her feet hit the rocks below, she flung her arms forward and clung to the rocky embankment as a child would a favorite toy, panting in relief when she realized she was still alive.

"You alright?" Saeana's voice carried down to the bowels of the bridge, the echoes against the underside of the structure like the cries of a new widow.

"Yeah," Shadowmere croaked, tentatively opening her eyes and looking around her, already feeling the broiling heat of the lava and the bitter chill of the air. "Yeah, I made it." Looking behind her, she saw the churning pool was no more than a foot from her heels and had to fight the bile in her throat. "I'm coming up," she said, only too eager to get away from the menace that had threatened to be her tomb and her pyre simultaneously. Her arms still throbbing, she began the process of scaling the ruins and rubble, her sore legs only too eager to help move her after having dangled uselessly for far too long. _"That should not have worked,"_ she realized, not entirely sure from where her sudden burst of good fortune had come. With a hand suddenly in her line of vision, Shadowmere looked up to see Saeana, relief in her fear-widened eyes. Now able to use her legs and on a more even level, Shadowmere gladly grabbed her fingers and together, they pulled her up the embankment.

Once on solid ground, she collapsed on her back and took a few deep, relieved breaths while Saeana patted her on the head with hands clumsy from the strain on her arms.

"So that's probably not the best route to take then," Saeana said, motioning to the bridge that had almost given their adventure a tragic turn. Still lying on her back, her eyes closed, Shadowmere started laughing breathlessly, almost madly, at her companion's comment. "For the love of Azura, you can't be getting punchy already," Saeana muttered, shaking her head. "We've still got a long way to go, pull yourself together." Shadowmere paid her little mind as she continued to laugh at the inane sarcasm her friend had expressed. _"I guess I'm the type to laugh in the face of certain death,"_ she thought, giving herself a few moments to laugh herself out.

"No, I'd have to say that's not an efficient direction to go," she said, taking another breath as her body finally calmed itself and pushing herself to sitting. "We're going to have to go around." She motioned with her azure hand the path that wended around the circumference of the huge tower where their quarry was presumably being held.

"Alright then," Saeana said, pushing the hilt Shadowmere's dropped sword back into her hands before getting herself to her feet and dusting off her knees and backside. "Let's make tracks." Brushing the dirt from her hands, Shadowmere reached up and let Saeana pull her to her feet before sliding the blade back into its sheath. "By the way," she commented, seemingly off the cuff. "There were three archers, so that gives me three and you…two? So one more than you?"

"Yeah, one more," she said simply, scratching her eyebrow with her middle finger as she quickened her pace. "Aren't you the one who said that we need to make tracks?" Smirking, Saeana followed her, her satisfaction obvious. "Besides, those archers couldn't have been anything more than churls. Killing them is like stomping ants. They should only count for about one and a half, not three." Shadowmere could practically hear Saeana's eyes roll with irritation and gave a proud little grin to herself.

"And what's the exchange rate for scamps?" Saeana asked, catching up and tucking her bow under her arm. "Killing them is like stomping crippled ants."

"Are you kidding?" Shadowmere cut herself off when she saw an angry clannfear charging toward her with its claws opened. "Killing scamps is like stomping army ants, or something else that fights back, like kwama or scribs or something." As she spoke, she pulled out her sword and started hacking at the little lizard-beast, who gave out an enraged screech. The scrap ended suddenly when the creature's head jerked back, an elven arrow jutting out of its crown. "That one's mine," she asserted, pointing to herself and holding her finger up, adding the beast to her running kill count. Saeana rolled her eyes and nodded, granting Shadowmere's claim despite the fact that it was her arrow that had actually delivered the killing blow. It had been Shadowmere's sword that had done most of the damage.

"So basically they're like killing animals with claws," she continued, nocking another arrow and taking aim at a scamp charging toward them and striking it dead with a single shot.

"Yes." Shadowmere's nod served both as an affirmation of her statement and acknowledgement of Saeana's kill, even as she took on a charging flame atronach with her blade outstretched.

"Not exactly equal to killing sentient beings that are capable of using weapons equivalent to our own, is it?" Saeana's argument interrupted Shadowmere's thrill of being so close to living flame and snuffing it like a candle.

"Even goblins are able to use weapons," she retorted, twisting her sword as she pulled it from the atronach's chest. "Would you consider them on our intellectual level?" She was careful to not touch the ember-like corpse as she pulled a small leather pouch from her pack, though she knew it wouldn't hurt if she did make contact with it; she could touch it all she wanted, it was only if the creature touched her that she could be burned.

"So you would consider goblins equally as intelligent as dremora?" Saeana asked, crouching beside the corpse and reached into the hole Shadowmere's weapon had left, pulling out the heart and squeezing the crystallized blood into the pouch held out by Shadowmere. The salts formed in the creature's heart could be sold for a tidy sum, but the act of collecting them made Shadowmere feel a little dizzy.

"Goblins have an organized hierarchy and are capable of controlling and being controlled, just like dremora; they can use magicka and weapons, just like dremora," she said firmly, handing the sack to Saeana, who blew the ash off of her hands before taking it. "So yes, I consider goblins cognate with dremora." Shoving their prize into her pack, Saeana shook her head, vehemently disagreeing with her.

"Goblins aren't even capable of speech," she scoffed. "You can't tell me that they're on the same level as dremora when they don't even have a viable form of communication." Shadowmere felt her brow furrow defensively while her stomach stiffened in the same manner.

"Just because you don't understand them," she said just loudly enough for Saeana to hear. "Doesn't mean they don't have anything intelligent to say." She illustrated the point for herself by blowing a tuft of hair out of her eyes, a communication she'd used in her previous form which no one else had been able to comprehend. There was no real way to justify her frustration when Saeana said things like she had; she had never lost the ability to express herself, but the aggravation was there nonetheless. There were times when Shadowmere hated being enlightened; she constantly saw things from the opposing point of view, and she hated having to constantly point out that an unappealing idea had merit. It was easy to see nasty, aggressive beasts as just that, but that didn't mean that was all that they were. They could very well be, but she could see something in their eyes that belied their true natures.

Goblins were vicious and territorial, but that was really no different from people. When confronted with intruders, anyone with a beating heart would likely fight to protect their homes and those they loved. It was true they had no centralized government, but was that so strange? The Ashlander tribes in Morrowind, and even the Great Houses and the guilds were a form of tribal law. And it may be true that Goblins had no discernable language outside of their honking shrieks and snarls, but that didn't mean they were unintelligent; maybe the rest of world had yet to learn how to interpret them.

But then again, perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was overthinking it, seeing things that weren't there and giving honor to dishonorable, despicable animals with no more sense of right and wrong than basic predator or prey drive.

In the end, it had no bearing on her current situation; she was in Oblivion, fighting daedra, not in a cave, fighting goblins. Putting her conundrum out of her mind, she hurried to catch up to Saeana, who had maintained her focus, untroubled by the affairs of creatures "beneath" her.

"So how many are we up to?" she called, trying to pretend she hadn't gotten lost in her own irrelevant, mental cul-de-sac.

"Four each," Saeana said, keeping an arrow nocked for preparation. "Wait, hold on." She loosed the projectile with expert precision and caught a magicka wielding dremora cleanly in the temple, the figure tumbling comically into a pool of lava. "You have four, I have five." Letting out a sigh, Shadowmere jabbed the blade of her sword into the dirt.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, shaking her head and glaring at her longsword. With her bow, Saeana definitely had the advantage of stealth. A slight movement behind a broken pillar brought a smile to her face and gleam to her eye. _"Alright, time to level the playing field,"_ she thought gleefully, rushing toward and blindsiding a frost atronach and a daedroth. Slamming her shield into the maw of the daedroth, she drove her blade into the spine of the atronach, the blow landing with a hiss and flash of steam. The heat of her enchanted weapon slashed clear through the frostbitten creature and it collapsed in a pile of half melted slush. Turning her attention toward the more simple-minded of the two behemoths, Shadowmere found the daedroth was trying to chew through her shield and was immediately grateful that the bandit, from whom she'd stolen the shield, had taken the time to properly temper the glass.

Deciding to admire the craftsmanship of her purloined armor later, Shadowmere slid the blade between the open jaws of the busily gnawing daedroth and push it back, the maxilla and skull separating from the rest of the body and falling backwards, the remaining corpse following suit.

Before she could report her success back to Saeana, her friend yelped from not far away, the sound making Shadowmere instinctively on edge.

"Shadowmere, get it off of me!" Saeana shrieked in desperation, her voice a tow rope reeling Shadowmere over to crumbling column where she stood, her back arced in pain and her entire body tensed. To her immense surprise, and perhaps relief, Shadowmere found there was nothing even remotely near her friend, but several small tears in her leather armor running diagonally down her back told her she needed to look closer. "What is it?" she asked, audibly reining in her panic. Though Saeana couldn't see it, Shadowmere shook her head, scanning the area carefully. The assorted humanoid remains adorning high rocks and pillars, as well as being suspended by ropes, proved to be a nauseous distraction, and Shadowmere found herself looking more at the mutilated forms and less for Saeana's assailant. _"Is one of these the guy we're supposed to be looking for?"_ she wondered. "Well?" Saeana insisted, dragging her out of her macabre daydream.

"I don't see anythi-" A fiery whip cracked across Shadowmere's back, making her gasp, suddenly interrupting her statement. "Yeow!" she cried, looking around with more intent. "Buggeration!" Searching for signs of anything trying to make a hasty escape, she was again surprised to find nothing.

"Did it get you too?" Saeana asked, her body finally relaxing a little and letting her turn to face Shadowmere, who nodded.

"Yeah, it hit my back," she said, pointing at her back from over her shoulder. "It didn't tear my armor, did it?" Before Saeana could respond, she let out another yelp, jumping to her left and clutching her right calf.

"It didn't get your armor, but it got my leg!" she yelled angrily, trying to rub the discomfort away. "That hurts!" Shadowmere turned around, again on what she thought to be a fruitless search for an invisible attacker.

"Alright," she said, not wanting to come up empty-handed again. "So we were both standing with our backs to the pillar, right?" she clarified, putting herself into the same position she had been in and garnering a nod from Saeana. "And we both got tagged in the back and when you turned you got hit by the leg closest to the pillar, right?" Saeana nodded again, a slight pause passing between them before they both turned toward the same pillar and discovered their assailant. "Are you kidding me?" Shadowmere asked, staring in annoyed shock at the sight of an amaranthine plant, moving of its own accord, and striking out at them. "Saeana, I think we've just suffered gardening injuries!" The plant struck out again, though Shadowmere was lucky enough to jump over the whip-like tendrils lashing at them.

"Well, now I'm really pissed," Saeana said, tucking her bow over her shoulder and pulling a daedric dagger from her belt and slashing at the plant, sprigs of the homicidal piece of horticulture scattered across ground. With mild amusement, Shadowmere watched as Saeana tried to exact vengeance from the vine-like aggressor. After a few minutes, Saeana finally stepped back and sighed in satisfaction, putting the small blade back onto her belt.

"Feel better now?" Shadowmere asked, raising an eyebrow. Saeana nodded, taking a deep breath and pushing some sweat laden locks of hair from her face.

"Yeah, I do." Shadowmere turned to go, but paused when her friend spoke up again. "So I guess it's six to six now." Almost straining her back with how fast she turned around, Shadowmere faced Saeana, her face driven into a competitive leer.

"It's six to five, in my favor," she corrected firmly. Saeana shook her head.

"It was, but I just took on the plant," she said haughtily. "So now it's six-"

"Sae, the thing's still alive," Shadowmere quickly pointed out, gesturing toward the plant which now seemed determined to draw blood. Scowling, Saeana narrowed her eyes at the flailing vines.

"Not for long it's not!" she yelled, whipping out her blade again and hacking away. Not willing to be outdone, Shadowmere pulled out her longsword and joined Saeana in her sap-lust. For a solid ten minutes, the two Dunmer women ganged up on the shrub, never once touching each other with their weapons, but every so often, one of them would let out a surprised exclamation of pain as the vines struck another blow.

Finally, Saeana got to her feet and backed away quickly, apparently having had an epiphany. "I'm cutting my losses," she said firmly. "You can keep your lead for now. I'm not going to get beaten up by a plant to tie your score." That was all Shadowmere really wanted to hear and she took the opportunity to jump back, watching the plant which, though thinned down, was ultimately unharmed as it slowed its motions and resumed its still clinging to the battered stone pillar.

"Yeah I guess you're right," she said, glad that she too, didn't have sufficient injuries from their skirmish that she would have to own up to the source. She refused, however, to leave the battle without trophies. She gathered a few of the sprigs that had been scattered in the fight and bound them together with the thinnest of them and tossed it in her pack.

Leaving the victorious plant, they continued their trek toward to the domineering tower, more mindful of the vines that they now noticed were growing pretty much everywhere. Watching the distance, Shadowmere saw a mace-wielding dremora standing with his back toward them and couldn't resist sneaking up behind him, presumably a him, her sword already thirsting for his blood. As she continued to creep, wondering if "blood" was the right word for what daedra had running through their bodies, or if "ichor" was a more correct description, the dremora fell forward faceplanting into a rock before slumping to the ground. A thin line protruding from the back of the beast-man's head, Shadowmere looked back at Saeana who still held her bow in front of her and a smirk in her cheeks.

"Now it's six to six," she said, lowering her arm and lifting her chest as she walked.

"You bitch," Shadowmere hissed, scowling bitterly. "That one was mine!" Saeana shrugged, putting her foot on the back of the dremora's head and jerking the arrow from it.

"You snooze, you lose Shad," she said glibly, wiping off the arrowhead and tucking it back into the quiver before stumbling and squeaking from the kick Shadowmere delivered to her ass. "You're a lousy sport, you know that?" she said with exasperation and she covered the spot where Shadowmere had struck.

"I like to say I'm driven," Shadowmere corrected, knowing how irritating she could be. Saeana simply rolled her eyes.

"I like to say I'm two inches taller and ten pounds lighter than I am," she shot back. "That doesn't make it true." Shadowmere blew a puff of air past her lips, knowing this was just another pointless argument in which the two had somehow managed to entangle themselves.

"Let's just keep moving," she said with another sigh. "I'm sure we'll find a few more daedra to help us settle the matter." In silent agreement, Saeana kept walking as Shadowmere pulled ahead, intent on being more vigilant so as not to fall behind her friend.

Her vigilance was cut short as she and Saeana unexpectedly found themselves at the foot of the mammoth tower, the sheer size making Shadowmere's head hurt and her pulse shake her wrists. _"What the hell is this about,"_ she wondered, making a conscious effort to try and slow her heartbeat. _"Since when am I scared of buildings?"_ The only other place that she remembered being afraid of, aside from her childhood home, was the stable by the Imperial City where the proprietress was rumored to eat the horses. That establishment still left her feeling unsettled, but not out and out afraid like she was now. _"This is stupid,"_ she thought, taking a deep breath and letting it all out at once, almost certain she could see the fear leaving her lungs like a frosty cloud.

"Race you to the top!" she said to Saeana, who stood staring up at the unending spire. Her smile uneasy, Saeana nodded.

"Last one loses one from their count," she challenged, charging toward the tower. Shadowmere ran around her and put her hands against the tower, the material like goosepimpled skin under her fingers. "Did…did you find the door?" Saeana asked, pushing against the side of the building much as Shadowmere did.

"I thought this was the door," she said, wiping her hands on her armor as she took a step back, cursing her inability to locate something that should be as obvious as a building's entrance. "Sae, we suck at this!"

"Gods, how did we get this job?" she said glaring over at Shadowmere. "Oh, that's right, you signed us up for this!"

"Goddamnit!" she yelped, stomping her foot and turning toward Saeana. "Will you let nothing go?" Saeana crossed her arms and walked over to Shadowmere, staring up at her in fierce defiance.

"I let a lot of your shenanigans go, but when they result in us ending up in a demonic realm, I'm not going to let that one go!" Though she had to fight the compulsion to strangle her and throw her lifeless body into the lava, Shadowmere knew that was probably not the best way to solve this particular issue. _"But it would feel so good…"_

"Fine," Shadowmere sighed. "Let's assume this is my fault. That doesn't change the fact that we need to find the door." Saeana nodded, her shoulders visibly relaxing.

"I vote that we walk around the tower," she replied, uncrossing her arms as her temper cooled. "We're bound to find it sooner or later."

"That works," Shadowmere agreed, starting on a clockwise path around the structure. _"At least we didn't come to blows this time."_ Keeping one eye on the path in front of her and one on the side of the building, a rocky ridge came quickly into her field of vision. "How far a drop is that?" she asked, pointing out the obstacle to Saeana, who had caught up quickly. Her friend scampered ahead and bounded to the top of the ridge, leaning over just far enough to see the ground on the opposite side.

"About eight feet," she said, turning to face Shadowmere, who now approached the ledge. She inched backwards on the rock until she was standing on the very edge, threw her arms backwards and leapt off backwards. Shadowmere watched as her friend curled her body into a ball and kicked one leg to carry her all the way around, landing on the ground with just a slight wobble.

"Just had to show off, didn't you," she said, rolling her eyes as she walked off the edge of the rock face and landed next to her friend with her knees bent.

"Why not?" Saeana smirked. "We've probably walked into an inglorious death, I might as well do a back flip while I still can." She didn't accuse Shadowmere of leading her into said death, but Saeana's words still stung Shadowmere. _"This would probably still be what we would walk into even if she had been the driving force behind this."_ Her thoughts offered Shadowmere no solace as she kept her hand against the building, feeling as though she was stroking a cold, freshly-plucked chicken.

With the bitter thoughts fueling her steps, Shadowmere almost missed two scamps patrolling what could only be the entrance to the tower; from where she stood, a set of steps jutting from the front of the building were visible and presumably led up to a door. The scamps stalked back and forth in their stilted gaits, almost adorably, in Shadowmere's opinion. _"Except for the flesh tearing, bone sucking depravity."_ Not giving Saeana a chance to steal her kills, she rushed ahead, thrusting her sword through the spine of scamp that didn't have time to shriek before his head rolled three feet ahead of him. Making sure she was between Saeana and the remaining scamp, so she wouldn't be able to get a clean shot, Shadowmere swung once more and slit the creature's throat. Its eyes widened and its mouth was open, but no sound came out and Shadowmere felt sick to her stomach. _"I know how that feels,"_ she remembered. Without allowing herself to dwell on the thought for any longer, and unable to abide the scamp's pain, she hacked once again and the beast suffered no longer. _"What the hell was that?"_ she wondered in scorn, not sure why her conscience started chiming in. It had been quiet enough while she killed all the other creatures, even making a sport of it, why now was is so distasteful?

"You cheater!" Saeana yelped. "You lousy cheater!" Pretending nothing had happened, Shadowmere turned around and shrugged.

"Hey, maybe if you weren't so busy doing back flips you would have noticed them sooner," she stated, standing before the stairs and staring at the enormous doors to the tower. It was a bizarre bastardization of the chapel back in Kvatch; double doors, complete with pointed arch. Though she wasn't religious, it was anathema in Shadowmere's eyes. "This is sick," she said under her breath. Saeana nodded, the expression she bore revealing all the fears that throbbed away in Shadowmere's gut as well.

"If I open the door," Saeana started cautiously, looking in Shadowmere's direction. "Will you go in first?" Shadowmere nodded, her voice somehow lost for the moment. _"If it means I don't have to touch that again."_ The memory of the chicken skin texture of the walls sent a quick shiver down her back. Letting out a bracing breath, Saeana grabbed one of the handles, which had the look of freshly gnawed bones, and held it open as Shadowmere walked in, feigning confidence. She then scurried in behind her as they crossed the threshold, the door shutting like a casket being closed.


	9. Chapter 9

Scamps and Spells

Their nameless fears only intensified as the two competitors stood in the foyer of the menacing tower. Shadowmere had gotten used to seeing at night, but there was something different about the darkness that now surrounded them; it was as though she was looking through a red lens that tinged everything a terrifying crimson and impaired her ability to see altogether.

Beyond the foyer was the only room visible on this floor of the tower, empty with the exception of a burning orange jet of light, complete with the muted roar and clanging sound of an oblivion gate. It was surrounded by a bony rail, perhaps to keep the more simple of the daedric servants from falling into the beam.

"Should I cast a Light spell?" Saeana's voice, though timid and uncharacteristically soft, still managed to make Shadowmere jump.

"No," she murmured, after she had made certain she hadn't soiled her armor. "If we can't see them, they probably can't see us either and even if they can, casting the spell would draw their attention." She was already a little uneasy about speak so much without knowing whence an attack could come.

"Good thought," Saeana mumbled in return. Keeping her hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword, Shadowmere tried to force her eyes to adjust to the strange darkness and obscurity in order to find something that would give them some kind of advantage. The first thing she noticed was a dark doorway to her left that led down a dark corridor. As they stood now, there was some trivial amount of light shining on them that served no purpose except to illuminate their positions. Grabbing Saeana's wrist, she dragged her into the dark cavernous hall, her first objective taken care of. The circular hall that ran around the circumference of the enormous room wasn't as dark as Shadowmere had first thought. Though covered in patches of darkness, the walls were riddled with archways allowing for access all around the room.

Now she set her sights, however blind they might be, on finding the enemy she knew was there. The problem was that she couldn't tell if the movements she saw were real or just her eyes playing tricks on her. The air itself seemed to move in strange spirals or whorls, just like when she was overly tired and saw bizarre things in the shadows.

"_The fact that I'm overly tired now doesn't help."_ Though true, the thought didn't help as she continued to scan the darkness for proof of what she saw. A movement by the rail around the flaring beam that shot up the middle of the spire gave her a small degree of hope as she crept closer to the nearest arch to get a better look. Squinting to force her eyes to focus, she was relieved to see that this time, there was actually something to see. The blazing form of a flame atronach was just barely visible in this fiery world, but it WAS visible. Not wanting to tip her hand, she motioned to Saeana to nock an arrow and pointed out where she ought to aim. Without so much as a breath, Saeana let the projectile fly, as silent as death itself.

As the arrow took down the atronach, the angry roar of a dremora caught both women completely off-guard.

"Damn it," she hissed, pulling her sword from its baldric and prepared her stance to absorb what would no doubt be a tremendous hit.

"Crawl on your belly!" the man-like creature snarled, already so close that Shadowmere could see the acid green of his sclera, and smell the rot from his blackened and cracked teeth.

"You first!" she yelled back, severing the foul head from the body before she even had time to think about what she was doing. Without even a second to celebrate her victory, a screeching clannfear barreled toward her, its beaked mouth drooling and its claws caked with dirt and blood. With only enough time to jam her shield between the two of them, Shadowmere hid behind it and absorbed the impact of the green, scaled creature against her forearm. She used the shield to shove the beast away and swung with her sword, managing to land a glancing blow on the clannfear's stomach. It recoiled, giving another ear-rending scream and giving Saeana an opportunity to drive two arrows into its skull and crown.

"Eight to seven," Saeana boasted.

"Bullshit!" Shadowmere said quickly, her temper flaring once again. "You can't take credit for something I already hit!" Saeana rolled her eyes and crouched beside the clannfear.

"One little cut on a clannfear's tummy doesn't count as a kill," she retorted, jerking her arrows out of the creature and waving the bloodied tips at Shadowmere. "It was the two arrows I shot that took it down." Shadowmere felt her temper rise again.

"Oh, so I'm a bird flusher, is that it?" It wasn't a horse, but a hunting dog wasn't exactly a more flattering comparison.

"Almighty Azura, you're a sore sport," Saeana huffed, standing up and moving carefully around the corpses. Her hair seemed to gleam like an ember in the red light of the room as she skulked around the circumference of the round room.

"Only when you cheat," Shadowmere muttered, mimicking Saeana's movements, searching for any signs of life that had yet to be eradicated.

"Hey, it's not like the game is over," Saeana reminded her, ducking into an alcove across the room from the one in which they'd hidden. "You've got plenty of time to try and beat me." Shadowmere blew a puff of air at a tendril of hair that had escaped its braided confines. It pissed her off when Saeana bragged about her own success under the guise of offering encouragement.

"_Brag if you're going to brag, don't pretend you're doing me a favor."_ Running her fingers over the walls, she sought any sort of imperfection her eyes could no longer make out; there had to be a door around here somewhere. "Here," Saeana said, her voice muffled from the alcove. "I found a way out." _"Of course she found it,"_ Shadowmere thought spitefully. She wasn't sure why she was in such a bad mood, but it could only work to their advantage considering the daedra they would certainly encounter.

Creeping with the feet of cats, they carefully made their way through the door into another darkened hallway with even less light than the first room.

"Good gods," Saeana whispered from somewhere in the void. "I can't even find my fingers!" Reaching for Saeana, Shadowmere managed to find her shoulder and held on to it while she stretched her hand back, feeling for the door through which they had come. Once located, she ran her fingers over the door and along the wall, pulling Saeana behind her as she groped her way away from the door. She didn't get far before a surprise incline caused Shadowmere to trip and thus take Saeana down with her.

"What the-?" she whispered in anger and shock as she tumbled to the floor. She had intended to keep speaking but was cut off when Saeana landed on top of her, forcing the breath from her lungs and further exacerbating the pain and swelling in her breast. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and tossed off Saeana, who landed by her side with a small "oof." Shadowmere rolled over to her and put her head beside Saeana's ear.

"What do you have against my boobs?" she asked in a harsh whisper, trying to keep from saying anything too loud. "They never did anything to you!"

"Why do you insist on throwing me around?" Saeana retorted just as quietly, groaning softly as she pushed herself upright. "Let's table that for now," she replied to herself, before Shadowmere could speak. "And let's crawl up, instead of trying to trip our way up."

"Alright," Shadowmere agreed, gingerly rubbing her throbbing chest. "As long as you leave my knockers alone."

"Agreed," Saeana sighed, already on her knees. Lumbering like two bear cubs, the two women blindly crawled up a never ending acclivity. Shadowmere found this exceptionally distasteful, her back holding a grudge for all the tomfoolery in which she had engaged for the past two days. Still, it didn't seem as though there was much choice in the matter. They couldn't see well enough to walk upright, and they still had to get to the top of the tower somehow. This was where the dickhead had said his friend was and so this was where they had to be.

Just when she was certain they'd never see the light of day again, a burning glow somewhere above them caught Shadowmere's eyes. She nudged Saeana with her elbow and gestured toward the top. Gradually they made their way up to the cusp of the incline and peered over the edge. Hoping to keep her body hidden, she watched for any hint of movement from the ambient darkness as she struggled to keep from sliding down the precipice.

"You see anything?" she whispered to Saeana, after her own initial glances proved fruitless.

"No," Saeana murmured as she slid down the incline, clawing at the floor with her fingernails to help keep from sliding.

"Alright," Shadowmere said, crawling into the room and getting to her feet. "Keep an eye out." Saeana gave a curt nod and found the wall with her left hand. A clanging "thunk" echoed over and over, adding an unnecessarily ominous knell to the silence, the sound coming closer as Shadowmere calmly walked the area of the space. Hoping for the best, her sight not yet optimal for the lack of light, she allowed her fingers to creep along the wall as though they were prisoners escaping their cell. Without warning, the unwary jailbirds were countered with thick bars that pulsed like a knife plunged into a still beating heart.

With the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, Shadowmere used her hands to examine the rusting metal, still pulsing under her palms; following them to their ends, she found the topmost one came to a point which she discovered with her right hand while her left continued to stand at the opposite end of the spike. Dropping her hands as a set, she had intended to see how far the bars went, but that changed when she found a decidedly un-metal, un-spiked object skewered on them. The skin was decaying and sagging from its bones, the cheese-like lumps nearly making Shadowmere throw up where she stood. From the small size, long ears and piggish nose, she could tell it was a scamp and while the texture of the rotting flesh was disgusting, Shadowmere was relieved that it still had enough shape for its nature to be discerned and that it wasn't human, elven or of the beastfolk.

As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she wandered through the room, abandoning the wall after her encounter with the throbbing spikes and the putrefying scamp, and trusting her instinct to guide her. All the shadows in the room seemed to dance, though she knew it was just her eyes trying to make sense of the lack of visual input. She remembered what Hannibal had told her about shadows, and how he had given her a name based on what he had said; _"…cast according to the light…"_ he had said. There was no light here, so there were no shadows. When the thought crossed her mind, she realized with a sudden wave of dismay that what she was seeing were actual living creatures and one was walking right in front of her.

It wasn't a terrible creature, just another scamp, but it was full grown and as unaware of her presence as she had been of its until a few seconds before she walked into it. Cursing her poor nocturnal vision, Shadowmere realized she couldn't unsheathe her sword without the sound stripping her of the only viable advantage she had at the moment. Knowing this could be more difficult than she intended, she quickly wrapped her arm around the beasts neck and with the other hand, grabbed one of its pig-like ears and jerked as hard as she could. To her surprise and satisfaction, the scamp's neck broke with strikingly little effort. Its full weight was not quite as pleasant a surprise as the sudden deadweight nearly ripped off her arms at the shoulders.

"_Damn, damn, damn!"_ she thought, doing a frantic one-legged dance to keep from crashing to the ground again. She managed to lay down the body without causing an undue ruckus and stood up straight, her back cracking softly in relief.

Just when she thought she was out of the woods, another shadow dancing nearby caught her attention, this one almost directly in Saeana's path; the path she saw only with the tips of her fingers. _"Bugger,"_ she thought, knowing that in order to take down the scamp, in the same manner in which she had disposed of the first, she would almost certainly have to push her friend out of the way. If Saeana couldn't see what was so violently touching her, she was very likely to fight back. Vigorously. _"She'd probably end up hitting my girls again."_ Though thought of taking another blow to her twice violated bosom was enough to keep her from carrying out that plan.

Flying by the seat of her pants, Shadowmere crept toward Saeana and, without laying a finger on her, managed to steal one of her arrows from the quiver on her back. Acting quickly, she stepped behind the scamp and in one motion, covered the beast's Orc-like maw with one hand and jabbed the arrow into its neck, making the blood shoot from the wound like the invisible arc of a shot from Saeana's bow. Gasping with sudden pain, the scamp clamped down its jaws on Shadowmere's hand and clawed at her arm with its unseen claws.

"_Gff!"_ The words couldn't even fully form in her brain with how quickly the teeth and claws reached her brain. Clenching her own jaw, she refused to cry out as her hand served as the only gag to catch the creature's shrieks and her arm as the only restraint that kept its claws from lashing at Saeana, who still wandered around the room like one of the blind Moth Priests. _"Die, damn you!"_ She desperately stabbed at the scamps head, the obsidian headed arrow finding its way into the its temple and Shadowmere shoved it in as far as she could.

When the scamp stopped fighting, Shadowmere once again gingerly laid down the beast and immediately cradled her arm and hand firmly against her chest. "Shit," she muttered. She could feel the blood puddling in her palm and spilling through her fingers, a gruesome miniature of the waterfall where she'd spent most of the summer. Giving a quick glance around, she didn't see any more lightless shadows and felt safe making her presence known to Saeana.

"Saean-" Before she could even get out the last syllable of her name, Saeana let out a yelp and her silhouette seemed to climb the walls as she jerked around. Despite the horrific pain in her arm, Shadowmere couldn't help but laugh at her friend's fright.

"Don't DO that!" Saeana exclaimed, hushing her voice as she stumbled her way toward Shadowmere. "What's going on?"

"Did you bring any torches?" she asked, knowing she needed to see her wound to assess the true damage to her limb, though she didn't need to see her hand to appreciate the pain emanating from it.

"No, I didn't pack any."

"Cast a Light spell," Shadowmere said through gritted teeth, the subtle sound of the trickling blood spattering on the floor just barely audible.

"But there could be-"

"There's not," Shadowmere interrupted her protesting sharply, the throbbing in her palm making her entire arm shake. "Just cast the spell." With that, a sea green circle wrapped itself around Saeana, who stood a yard or so away from Shadowmere, and eventually covered the entire room with its surreal glow. "Do you have any healing potions?" she asked, sitting down and trying not to think about what she might be sitting on. No longer having to stumble, Saeana was quickly at Shadowmere's side, her eyes wide and her jaw slackened a little.

"Almighty Azura," Saeana murmured, aghast at the sight of Shadowmere's gnawed arm. "When did that happen?" She dropped the bag and her bow from her shoulder and knelt beside Shadowmere, who feigned indifference.

"It looks worse than it is," she said, not daring to open her clenched fist, knowing she would likely start a torrential hemorrhage if she did. "I saw some scamps walking around and didn't want you to get to them before me." That was **partly** true. Saeana scoffed and shook her head.

"So competitive," she muttered, digging through the bag. "I don't think I have any potions other than water," she said, pulling out a canteen and unscrewing the lid. "We can at least wash it out." Shadowmere shook her head.

"It can wait to be washed," she said firmly. In a land filled with lava, she wouldn't be the one to use their only drinking water on her boo-boos, no matter how grievous they might be. "Do you know any healing magic?" Saeana blew her lips and shrugged uselessly.

"Nothing strong enough to heal that," she admitted, clearly feeling as useless as her shrug. "That would need a professional healer or a couple of strong potions."

"It doesn't need to heal it, I just need the bleeding to stop," Shadowmere said quickly. It was going to be difficult to do anything with an injured hand, but if it was no longer bleeding, it would at least be easier or, if nothing else, less messy.

"I may be able to do that much," Saeana said, relief snaking through her words. Resting one hand on Shadowmere's gashed forearm, she made a gesture with the other hand that looked like she was snatching a bird out of the air and releasing it in the same motion. Before her eyes, Shadowmere's skin knitted itself back together, leaving several long scabs, but the bleeding stopped. "Open your hand," Saeana said, her skin looking unusually pale in the green light. "I have to touch it, otherwise I can't do anything."

"If I let go," Shadowmere said carefully, not sure how to phrase the statement so that Saeana wouldn't be spooked. "The guts of my hand may fall out." She couldn't find an apt way to say it, so she decided for the approach that left little to the imagination. Fortunately, Saeana's constitution was tougher than Shadowmere had given it credit for.

"Alright," she said, unfazed by her description. "Right when you open your hand I'll put mine on top. I'll keep the 'hand guts' in." Cautiously, she opened her palm and before she could even get another look at it, her friend had already covered it and made the bird catching motion again. As Saeana moved her hand, Shadowmere saw that, while it had some scabbing, the wound still oozed blood. She looked up, intending to chastise Saeana when she saw her friend was sitting back and had her head between her knees.

"You alright?" she asked, feeling slightly guilty for even thinking about complaining about the failed healing. Saeana nodded, not really lifting her head.

"If I overuse magicka I get really lightheaded," she said, her voice too faint for Shadowmere's liking. "I'll just wait a minute and I'll be fine. How's your hand?"

"It'll be fine," Shadowmere lied, pawing through her own bag. Pulling out a sock, she used the blade of Saeana's knife and slit the sides of the garment, leaving the toe intact and giving herself a piece of cloth that closely resembled a bandage. She wrapped it tightly around her palm and fingers before tying it around her wrist. That would at least keep her from bleeding all over Oblivion.

"You were born under the atronach, weren't you?" Shadowmere asked, turning her attentions to her friend, who seemed to be on the verge of keeling over.

"Yeah," she grunted, her voice sounding as faint as the rest of her looked.

"You can't regenerate your own magicka right?" Shadowmere asked, posing the question not only to get the information, but also to try and keep Saeana conscious.

"Yep." Shadowmere had been afraid of this; it wasn't that her friend was tired, it was that she lacked the willpower to move. It had happened once or twice before, but they had been fortunate enough to have potions on hand to combat Saeana's condition.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked, knowing they didn't have the luxury of artificial magicka regeneration this time.

"It just leaves me feeling weak," Saeana insisted, slumping down on her side and curling up in a ball. "If I can rest for a minute, then I can recover enough to keep walking."

"I really don't want to have to drag your sorry hide around Oblivion," Shadowmere said with adamance, putting her uninjured hand on her hip. "If you have to fight you're going to go down if they look at you funny, even if you feel good enough to walk."

"We don't have potions," Saeana reminded her, her eyes closed and barely summoning the will to open her lips. "And you don't use magicka. From where I sit we don't have a whole lot of options." In Shadowmere's mind, staying where they were wasn't a viable course either. With her willpower gone, it wasn't going to come back just by waiting; they would have to figure out how to get her back to her normal state.

"Do you have any scrolls?" She asked suddenly. "Preferably non-destructive?" It was a dangerous idea that burst into Shadowmere's head; an idea through which Saeana saw, despite her weakened state.

"There's no way in hell that I'm letting you cast spells at me," Saeana said, though weak she was still staunch. "If you hurt me, there's no way for you to heal me."

"I'm not brain-dead Saeana," she said, clinging to her desperate scheme. "But you have scrolls?" Saeana sighed, though it could have just been a breath to restore her waning resolve.

"Yes," she grumbled, nuzzling her face into her elbow. "But I don't want you to use them on me." Shadowmere made a motion with her uninjured right hand, demanding the scrolls.

"Let me see them," she ordered. Saeana sighed again and shoved the bag toward her. With one hand she dug through the worn sack until she came up with several rolls of parchment, the arcane language practically hurling themselves off of the page. Shadowmere's plan, while desperate, was incredibly simple; though Saeana couldn't regenerate her own magicka, she had a chance of absorbing spells or magical attacks that were cast at her. "Where did you get these?" Shadowmere asked, rifling through the crushed tubes and selecting the ones that looked the most benign. She didn't want to cast harmful spells at her friend, so she chose carefully.

"The dremora had them," she mumbled. "What do you have?"

"Voice of rapture, voice of dread, river walk," Shadowmere said, reading off what she could make out of the runes on the page. "The others are all pretty heinous sounding."

"Yeah, because 'voice of dread' has such a cozy feel to it." Saeana sighed, lifting her head. "But they do sound like the least dangerous of the bunch. Alright, give it a try."

"Alright." Unrolling the first scroll, Shadowmere squinted in the dim light and struggled to read the unusual words.

"_Vox ecstasis,"_ she said, hoping she didn't have to do anything else. As the magical energy circled around her, Saeana's eyes lit up, her energy apparently returned and smiled at Shadowmere with sickening adoration. Somehow, Shadowmere wasn't convinced that her casting had done the job. "Did I do something wrong?" Shadowmere asked with eyebrows raised; Saeana didn't smile like this unless she was drunk.

"I don't think you could do **anything** wrong," she said, leaning her chin on her hand and grinning with glowing, glassy eyes. "You're just awesome." Raising her eyebrow, Shadowmere sought a solution as she watched the parchment in her hands disintegrate before her eyes, as all scrolls did once the invocation had been spoken. Voice of Rapture spells were intended to captivate the minds of those at whom it was cast so that they would be easier to command, so if the spell worked properly, the caster would become an object of adoration in the eyes of the one on whom it was cast. "You have pretty hair," Saeana said, apparently under the intoxicating influence of the spell.

"Thank you," she said carefully, not wanting to engage her any more than was necessary, considering her apparent infatuation. "Tell me if I did something wrong with the spell." Saeana chortled, looking a little tired as she continued to stare at Shadowmere with doe eyes the color of fresh strawberries, her chin still resting in her hand.

"You pronounced the V," she said, her mouth moving like a bubbling viscous brew. "With scrolls, you always pronounce V like a 'wuh'. Your lips should look like a fish's lips. Wuh-wuh-wuh…" Saeana continued to make the fish face in silence as she stared rapt at Shadowmere.

"Alright, dually noted," she said while Saeana did her best slaughterfish impression. Trying to ignore the absurd countenance beaming back at her, she unfurling another scroll.

"I know I'm hit by the spell," Saeana started between fish puckers. "But since you mispronounced it, I'm not under the full effect. It won't last very long."

"Well that's good to know." Saeana started giggling like a thirteen year old girl who had just seen a unicorn.

"I want to tell you how much I like you," she blabbered suddenly, sitting up straighter.

"Tell me about it later," Shadowmere said, shaking out her selected scroll. _"Vox formidinis,"_ she murmured, making sure to follow Saeana's advice. As the energy pulsed, it was clear that Shadowmere's efforts didn't help as much as she had hoped. Saeana's adoring, slackened face suddenly contorted, her eyes widening as she opened her mouth as wide as she could and screamed loud enough that Shadowmere dropped her fist of scrolls and clamped her hands over her apiculate ears. "What did I do now?" she yelled, desperate to be heard over Saeana's unrestrained howl.

"Nothing!" Saeana screamed, her shaking voice now wrenched with sobs. "It's working perfectly! Cast something else!" Shadowmere had known her friend's chances of absorbing a spell were just as good as her not absorbing a spell, but two out of three seemed to indicate the odds weren't in their favor. Still she picked up the last scroll she had sifted out, and unrolled it with surprisingly shaking fingers.

"_Flumen ambulans,"_ she said quickly. In a flash, Shadowmere watched as Saeana's indigo skin glowed a bright fuchsia, indicating that her body had inhaled the magic instead of letting it crash over her like a wave. The purple crept along her body until her skin was no longer pale and she didn't look nearly as weak. With some presence of mind, Saeana moved as if to capture and release another bird, casting another spell on herself. Knowing it was likely a dispel hex, Shadowmere could only watch as her friend shuddered once and then continued to scream. "What's wrong with you?" Shadowmere asked, already with some idea. Some of the spells Saeana knew were fairly strong, but mysticism wasn't her strong suit, so her Dispel wasn't strong enough to eliminate the full effect of the spell cast on her.

"I'm scared!" she shrieked, covering her face. "Shadowmere I'm scared!" As annoying as she found her friend's wails, Shadowmere felt bad that the spell was affecting her so badly, especially since it had been her idea to cast it.

"It's alright, hold on to me," she said as gently as she could manage, gathering Saeana under her arm like a mother bird covering her hatchlings with her wing. Like a bizarre mating insect, they circled the room once again, waiting out the remainder of the spell. With each step Saeana whimpered, as though each footfall was an attempt on her life. Though her ribs were sore with how tight Saeana was holding her, Shadowmere didn't say a word and, despite the terror that shook the woman in her arms, Shadowmere began to find her friend's temporary condition mildly amusing. Amidst her whimpers, Saeana let out a scream.

"What the hell is that?" she yelled, holding her arm out as far from her body as she could, her appendage shaking violently.

"What's what?" Shadowmere asked, looking for a spider or some bug crawling on Saeana's forearm. "I don't see anything."

"At the end of my arm!" she insisted, her voice high and tight with horror. Looking over her friend's hand, Shadowmere had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"That's your hand," she tried to calm her, only to find that Saeana's fear hadn't waned.

"What about the things at the end?" Shadowmere bit down on her lip harder.

"Fingers." Saeana calmed down a little at her reassurance, and they were able to continue their ungainly stroll around the room. Then, once again, she let out a screech and practically leapt into Shadowmere's arms.

"There's things on the floor!" Saeana briefly released Shadowmere to run around the dimly lit room, kicking her legs with as if to throw off whatever it was that attacked her from the floor. Shadowmere felt her ears pop with how hard she tried to keep her composure. The irony and idiocy of the situation was too much to withstand; because she had tried to protect her friend, the same friend was now driven out of her mind with irrational fear. If Saeana had been afraid of the creatures around them, or the fact that they were in a demonic plane of existence, Shadowmere would have been able to understand her panic, and would certainly be less likely to laugh at her. But Saeana paid no attention to the dead scamps on the floor, nor the blood that stained their weapons and clothes and if she even noticed where they were, she said nothing.

"Those are your feet," Shadowmere said, watching the frenetic dance and hoping her teeth didn't explode from her restraint. This answer, despite her self-control, didn't satisfy Saeana, who still kicked her legs this way and that.

"They're trying to eat my legs!" Shadowmere covered an escaping laugh with a cough as she put her hands on Saeana's shoulders and held on to her, as if to act as a shield for her.

"Those are your boots." Again a relieved pause before Saeana began screaming again and clawing at her head.

"Something's-!"

"Your hair hon," Shadowmere reassured her with a sigh. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of walking around the room, Saeana began to come around, much to Shadowmere's relief. She released her hold on Shadowmere's ribs and stood up straight.

"You alright?" Shadowmere asked, hoping her amusement wasn't obvious. Saeana's face relaxed and promptly flushed with embarrassment, her antics still fresh in her mind.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here," Saeana said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm ready to get home." With the light spell slowly fading, Shadowmere managed to locate the door and they pushed their way through it, confronted immediately with another incline, leading up to unfathomable heights and overlooking the staggering distance from where they were to where they had been.

"You've got to be kidding me," Shadowmere muttered with venom in her words as she craned her neck to try and see the top.

"Damn it," Saeana said, shaking her head and pulling out her bow. "Alright let's go. Those daedra won't kill themselves." As she pulled out her sword and gripped it with her uninjured hand, Shadowmere charged up the incline, with eyes adjusted to the darkness and determined to end some lives.


	10. Chapter 10

Finding Menien

And so, Shadowmere and Saeana made their way up the tower, walking up a constant incline and taking out horde after horde of dremora, daedroths, clannfears, scamps, and atronachs of every element, not to mention the odd spider daedra and xivilai. After a while, the two women's contest crossed into triple digit scores for each of them and they were both so sick of the fighting that they began to avoid any more killing, even if it meant sacrificing their scores which they had both worked so hard to advance. _ "Another day, another septim,"_ Shadowmere sighed, kicking a xivilai over the railing, and looking at Saeana.

"Mine or yours?" she asked, Saeana wiping off the arrows she'd been able to retrieve from the corpse. She shrugged and Shadowmere shook her head, too tired to care. She kept thinking about how much they still had to do before they could leave the fevered land; they had an errant Kvatch city guard to find, who knew how many daedra to kill, and they had to locate and remove the chock that was holding open the door between the planes of Oblivion and Tamriel and, if at all possible, save their own lives in the process.

As they came close to the top of the incline, Shadowmere saw a wall freckled with three doors. She pointed toward them and, pushing her legs to go just a little further. She quickly cut down two dremora and ran toward the first door, throwing her shoulder into it. Giving two quick charges, she gave up almost immediately and crouched before the door, clenching her lacerated fist and holding it against her chest. Where it had been painful before, it was now throbbing after she had used it to cut through the multitude of daedra, and it was bleeding through the sock-bandage.

"Locked?" Saeana asked, leaning against the wall.

"Locked." Shadowmere said, holding out her good hand. "Give me a lockpick." To her surprise, Shadowmere didn't feel the thin cool metal pressed into her palm and when she looked up, she saw Saeana shaking her head with regret.

"The only one I brought broke when I tripped over you," she said sighing. "It's not exactly built for durability." Discouraged, Shadowmere let her head drop to her chest.

"No potions, no lockpicks," she muttered, fruitlessly tugging on the door. "By Azura you're useless." Saeana rolled her eyes and slid down the wall.

"That's sweet of you," her words curled with sarcasm as she nodded toward the other doors. "Are they all locked?" Shadowmere shrugged and sighed.

"I didn't check," she admitted, fully aware that the disclosure could give Saeana every excuse to chew her out.

"Well check that instead of being a bitch," Saeana snapped, pushing her forehead so Shadowmere fell off balance and landed on her backside. Wincing as she had instinctively tried to catch herself with her injured hand, she curled her hand into a fist and tried to staunch the restarted bleeding while she put her shoulder into the middle door. To her shock, she found it opened without much persuasion.

"We're in," she said, motioning for Saeana to come closer as she opened the door fully. "Your transgression is forgiven." Shaking her head and getting to her feet, Saeana went out the door as Shadowmere held it open.

"My 'transgression' being that you basically threw me to the ground?" she asked, looking over her shoulder as she walked, her steps becoming unusually careful as she ventured into the open air.

"That's the one," Shadowmere confirmed, pulling the door shut behind her. "You're lucky I don't kill you on the grounds of being a saboteur since you broke our only lockpick. You can thank me later."

"How gallant of you," Saeana muttered, her lip curling as she held her arms slightly away from her sides, her footsteps becoming all the more careful. "Are you coming or are you going to stay there where the scamps will find you?" As she made her way forward, Shadowmere was encountered with a long narrow bridge leading from where she stood to another tower sprouting from the ground with the menacing shadow of a hanged man. The bridge itself was just wider than her shoulders, but it wasn't the narrowness that made her stomach pitch through the soles of her boots.

"Malacath's filthy pecker!" Shadowmere swore, turning on her heel and clinging to the doorway back into the spire. "Azura help me!" Saeana turned around, and Shadowmere tried to hide the scalding fear blistering under her skin behind the overwhelming embarrassment she felt from having her friend see her like this.

"What is your problem?" Saeana asked, who seemed completely unaware of how precarious her position on the constricted bridge was, her hair blowing in the slight breeze.

"Do you have any idea how high up we are?" Shadowmere's voice was twisted with absolute terror, and she had a death grip on the doorframe, certain that the breeze that barely rustled Saeana's wind braids was going to carry her over the edge like a child's kite.

"Yeah, does that bother you?" Saeana asked, walking back toward her frightened companion as unflappable as she ever was.

"That you have an idea, no, that we're so high up, yes," Shadowmere grimaced, feeling her fingernails bending against the stone doorway. Looking as though she wanted to be supportive but couldn't help laughing a little, Saeana got a little closer to her.

"You're scared of heights?" she asked, her face twitching with how hard she was trying not to smile.

"No, I just really love this doorway," she spat, holding on as tight as she could manage. "Yes, I'm scared of heights." Despite all the adventures she had undergone, both with Saeana and without, Shadowmere had never had to confront her acrophobia. Horses weren't taken to high places, and any time she had independently ventured into mountains or lofty structures, she had been able to control the fear by making sure she couldn't see down. Now, so high in the stagnant air, with only a strip of a bridge, consisting of unknown structural integrity, there was no way to avoid the sight of the open sky all around her. Of course, she found the satire in the fact that she was now the one paralyzed with fear and Saeana was trying to talk her down when, not so long ago, their positions had been reversed.

"How come you never mentioned this before?" Saeana asked, leaning against the doorframe opposite from Shadowmere.

"Is there a reason why I should have?" Shadowmere asked in return, venturing a look over her shoulder to glance at the ground which seemed a million miles away, the height making her stomach try to jump out of her mouth. "It's not really relevant to anything we've ever done."

"Shad, I wish there was other way to get across," Saeana said, with genuine sympathy amidst the sound of stifled laughter. "But there's not and we have to find this Menien guy." Shadowmere closed her eyes and nodded, trying to summon the nerve to disengage her fingers from the doorway.

"I know, I know but…" She glanced over the edge and promptly felt as though she would be sick, taunted by images of herself falling to the ground and her body splitting into pieces like a ripe melon. "Fuck me!" She stared up at the sky, which only served to make her head spin faster.

"Not here dear, I have a headache," Saeana said, taking her hands. "Put your hands on my shoulders and just look at my hair." Shadowmere let out a long sigh, feeling like a child. It was one thing to be frightened of someone or something charging toward her with the intent of doing her serious bodily harm, or even something she perceived to be a threat, as Saeana had done with her own limbs. But it was another thing to be frightened of something intangible and something that couldn't do her any harm in and of itself. It wasn't the height that could hurt her, it wasn't even the act of falling that would kill her, it was the landing. Shadowmere sighed, trying to put her logic in the back of her mind and fear in check. Putting her hands on Saeana's lean shoulders, she focused her fear-widened eyes on her slightly curled hair.

"_Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall,"_ she coached herself, focusing on every strand of hair on Saeana's head. She wanted very much to close her eyes and deprive her brain of the terrifying stimuli around her, but the idea of walking hundreds of feet above the ground on a very narrow ledge without the use of vision struck her as a poor decision.

"We're here," Saeana said, reaching over her shoulder and patting Shadowmere on her uninjured hand. Charging for the door, Shadowmere pressed her entire body into it, desperately glad to feel the solid surface underneath her body.

"I love this door," she murmured, closing her eyes in relief. "I think I'd like to live in sin with this door." That was, in fact, only a mild exaggeration.

"Well, I hate to break up your little tryst, but let's get inside," Saeana urged, looking no less happy than Shadowmere to be off of the bridge. "The sooner we close the gate the sooner we can go home." Reluctantly releasing her hold on the beloved doorframe, Shadowmere nodded as she threw her shoulder into the door, feeling it give slightly before slowly creeping open, as though being pushed through a foot of water.

"I'm in favor of leaving," she said with no degree of uncertainty. With Saeana close behind her, she stepped into the tower and was promptly staggered by the height of the ramp on which she stood. While it wasn't quite as intimidating as the bridge they had just crossed, the path which spiraled upwards along the wall was smooth stone and made it difficult for Shadowmere's feet to maintain traction. "Damn it!" she cursed, pressing her back against the wall as Saeana rolled her eyes.

"Standing where you are, you can't even see how high this is," she told her, shaking her head as she pulled her bow from her shoulder. While the bridge they had crossed allowed for a clear view of the ground below, the ramp made it possible to avoid looking down by staying against the wall. Knowing her friend was right, Shadowmere took a breath and stood up straight, though she certainly hugged the wall.

"In the cage!" A man screamed from somewhere within the tower, making the two jump. Despite the startle she'd just received, Shadowmere closed her eyes, focusing on the sound itself; it rained down on the two women like their cold, crushing waterfall, the despair and fear in the words making it difficult to listen to. Looking around frantically, Shadowmere put her fear aside and stared up the empty space, trying to look past the corpses that had been strung up like a macabre mobile.

"Up on the top," she said to Saeana, motioning toward the zenith with her daedric longsword. "There's someone up there." The two crept up the incline, their feet slipping occasionally, until the outline of a heavily armored dremora stalking around a cage became visible.

"Over here!" The man's voice was hoarse and desperate, and didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular. She suspected that he had been screaming for hours so she was secure in the knowledge that Saeana and her position hadn't been compromised.

"Stop your pitiful braying mortal," the dremora snarled at the man, kicking the cage with enough force to make it shake in its secure base. "Your pathetic comrades will rot, just as you do!" Holding the shield in front of her, Shadowmere charged at the daedra. "Hey ugly!" she shouted, pulling the creature's attention toward her, distracting him from where Saeana stood behind her, an arrow nocked in her bow.

"You should not be here mortal!" the beast snarled pulling the mace from his hip. "Your blood is now forfeit, your soul is mine!" Shadowmere grinned at the challenge.

"How long did that take you to come up with that?" she asked, circling around him, carefully keeping her shield between the two of them, knowing full well that should that mace make contact with her, she no longer had immortality to protect her. Tucking her head behind the shield, the sound of the weapon striking like that of bones cracking, Shadowmere was nearly knocked to the ground with the force of the blow. "You don't seem like you have the soul of a poet in you," she grunted, continuing to circle around him and taunt at the same time. "Unless you ate him, maybe." Though the beast had a permanent scowl fixed on his face, her comments seemed to be particularly displeasing to him.

"You are impertinent mortal!" the dremora growled. "Perhaps joining your fellow mortal in the cage would teach you some respect!"

"Maybe getting an arrow shot through the back of your head would teach you to be less of a wanker," she retorted, cocking her head and giving a look of sardonic contemplation, knowing Saeana wouldn't let her down. The dremora raised his arm and made a move to bring down the mace once again, while Shadowmere braced herself behind the shield for the impact and changed the grip on the hilt of her sword so she could make the most critical attack as quickly as she could. Before the dremora could bring the attack to fruition, he let out a sudden grunt, his venom green eyes widening slightly. Using the half second of opportunity she had gained, Shadowmere lowered her shield and, with a shout, swung the sword as hard as she could, driving the point diagonally down from the neck down to the bottom of the ribcage.

"You clear?" she asked Saeana, struggling to hold on to the twitching body. Putting her hands on Shadowmere's shoulders, Saeana slid behind her, standing clear of the Dremora.

"Go ahead and drop it," she said, motioning toward the edge of the ramp. Giving a grunt, she shook the body free of the sword and watched it drop onto the ramp and begin a slow slide downward on the smooth surface. "Do you think we could have done without the little taunting episode?" Saeana asked, putting her bow on her back and crossing her arms.

"Apparently not," Shadowmere said, running the flat part of the sword over the sole of her boot, wiping the blood from the blade. "I wouldn't have taunted him otherwise."

"Hey, over here!" Both women jumped as the man in the cage reminded them of his existence. He was a frenzied looking, forty-something Imperial who looked as though he hadn't eaten in days. His nearly bald head was covered with some combination of sweat, blood and soot, which dripped down his scalp and made a nasty crown on his white hair.

"It's alright," Saeana said, her concern flowing almost naturally past lips that had claimed they were unsuited for such discourse. "We're going to get you out of there." The crazed man barely responded to her words, his soot streaked face drawn with desperation and his blue eyes wild as they darted between the two women.

"Quickly! Quickly! There is no time! You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it," he said, as though he hadn't heard what Saeana said. "That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone, remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry! The Keeper has the key—you must get the key!" Glancing at one another Shadowmere and Saeana debated with their eyes as to how to proceed.

"Are you Menien?" Saeana asked slowly.

"Don't worry about me there's no time!" the man barked. For a moment, Shadowmere watched as the proper course of actions played hide and seek with Saeana.

"You take the key, I'll get our friend out of here," she said, relieving Saeana of the burden of the decision. _"Again."_

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking almost afraid of Shadowmere's decisiveness.

"I suspect I can carry him more easily than you can," she reasoned, looking quickly from her muscular, sturdy frame to Saeana's lithe, acrobatic figure.

"Are you sure?" Saeana was practically begging her to reconsider.

"Nope, but it beats standing around," she said, eying the cage and looking for any design flaws that could work to her advantage. "Haul ass already!" she barked when Saeana hesitated. "You're going to need to run back down to get the key, and I don't know how far Ugly's slid by now." Nodding, she turned to follow the sliding corpse but paused once more.

"Hey Shadowmere?" Her voice was like a child's.

"Yeah?"

"If we don't make it back-" Shadowmere couldn't let her continue in this kind of mentality. If Saeana was anticipating the worst, the worst was exactly what would happen and she just plain couldn't have that.

"Saeana, tell me when we get back to Kvatch." Saeana nodded, giving a weak smile and following the ramp back down to the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Return to Tamriel

Not knowing how much time was left before Saeana closed the gate, nor what would happen once the gate closed, Shadowmere worked quickly to open the cage door.

"Does that key open the cage door?" she asked the man inside. He shook his head, his body tensed and his eyes ticking like a metronome between her and the cage between them.

"Damned if I know for sure, but I have to assume not." He motioned toward the walls of the cage and Shadowmere saw that the cell consisted of four sections that opened out like a flower blooming and lacked any kind of a roof.

"Could you climb out?" she asked, getting another obvious answer out of the way.

"I'm only standing because I have no room to sit," Menien admitted shamefully. "The three of us have been jammed in here together forever." His statement seemed unpleasantly curious to Shadowmere; there was clearly only him in the cage.

"Who are the other two?" she inquired with reserved skepticism. Menien pointed at a ribcage and a skull lying on the floor of the cage, each with its own designated space.

"Lavinia and Onalee," he said, pointing to the ribcage and skull respectively. "The dremora killed them and-" The city guard opened his mouth a few times, but couldn't finish his statement and Shadowmere didn't want him to; her imagination was sharp enough that she could surmise how the women had met their fates.

"How do we get the cage open?" she asked, without the words to comfort the man, or say anything meaningful about the bones that held such importance to him.

"You don't. Only the dremora knew how the lock works."

"Buggeration!" she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and blowing hair out of her face. Looking for another way to the stranger out.

"Just go before your friend closes the gate and you're trapped in here!" he yelled, his eyes wide and desperate. She shook her head, frustration making her words and motions harsher than she meant them.

"If I come out of here without you, she's never going to let me live it down," Shadowmere responded tartly. "And I'm guessing your little guard friend would wedge his foot far enough up my ass to kick out my tonsils, so start looking for solutions instead of problems." His eyes lit up at the sound of her words, hope for the first time gleaming out.

"Ilend?"

"Yes."

"He's alive?"

"Mmhmm," she murmured, futilely yanking on the bars. The worn man looked around frantically, staring at the wrought iron bars of the cage.

"Can you cut through the bars?" he offered, suddenly more optimistic. "Your sword's Daedric, that stuff is pretty hardy, it might be able to cut through iron." Shadowmere shook her head.

"I've been killing the damn daedra all night, my sword is pretty worn," she said, moving closer to examine the bars more carefully. "But what's holding the bars together?" she asked, gingerly running her fingers over the "x" shaped weavings where the bars met. Menien simply shuddered.

"Bone." His voice sounded as though the single word was going to make him lurch. "Kvatch city guard bone to be exact." Though she knew the grim confession likely caused the man great pain, Shadowmere did all she could to ignore it at the moment; she was intent on getting him out the tower and back to Tamriel, and stopping to acknowledge the words would almost certainly be nothing short of agonizing.

"My sword probably has enough left to break bone," she said, a slight smile of relief on her face. "If we can get the hoops off, can you climb between the other bars?" Somehow surprised by her apparent indifference to the revelations he had just made, Menien simply nodded.

"I'll do what I have to do to get you out of here," he said. "I don't want anyone dying to save my sorry hide."

"I guess chivalry's not dead yet," Shadowmere muttered, trying to work her blade between the bone Xs. Sawing feverishly, Shadowmere's arms begin to burn even in the frigid temperature of the contrary world and her injured hand pounding. "Is it doing anything?" She asked, blowing some of the bone dust out of the crack.

"Yeah, now focus on cutting through the rest of them about that same distance," Menien said, pointing to the other joints. "If you can get far enough through them, I can probably break the hoop loose." The idea came as little relief to Shadowmere's aching body. _"As weak as he is, I'm going to need to do most of that part too."_

"How many hoops need to come off for you to get out?"

"Probably one more after this one," Menien said, his fists already tightened around the first iron hoop, preparing to break the hold. "They haven't fed me much, I can slip through easier." Sweat trickling down her back, Shadowmere worked the blade between each bone X and sawed half way through each one before moving on to the next. She tried to focus on the act itself and not think about the substance that she was cutting through, since the few thoughts about it that came across her mind were less than appealing.

Whose bones had these been? Were they the women Menien had mentioned, or others? Did they have families, or friends? What had they done to end up in this way? Had they simply been trying to protect themselves, their homes and their loved ones? Perhaps more importantly, how had Menien been the only one to survive his captivity? It was a question he had no doubt asked himself numerous times over the duration of his incarceration. Shadowmere shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind as she continued to desecrate the remains of the dead to save the living. _"Thoughts like that certainly don't help,"_ she thought, puffing up a sigh and blowing a sigh past her lips. As she worked, the morbid thoughts didn't come any slower, sending shivers up and down her sweat coated body.

The Deadlands were a strange place; Shadowmere didn't know whether it was the cold feeding her fears, or her fears making her cold. Each slash she made, each cut, each crossed X she hacked through sent a bitter chill through her veins, but each look at Menien's worn and tired face made her all the more resolved to get him out of Mehrunes Dagon's corner of Oblivion.

Slicing through the last of the Xs, Shadowmere leaned back, putting her hands on her knees, gasping for air, though her lungs filled with frost and she exhaled smoke.

"This one ready?" Menien asked, gripping the hoop. Shadowmere simply nodded, feeling more worn out than she had since Hannibal had swum her across to the Arcane University. Menien jerked the metal, grunting as the metal refused to budge.

"Damn, that's tough," he said grunted, looking to Shadowmere, more than slightly discouraged. "I must have gotten soft in here."

"Do you need me to cut through more?" She wasn't sure that she could, but allowing herself to indulge that attitude was something she was certain she couldn't do.

"No, let me try again." Taking a breath, Menien shook the hoop, a clanging and shattering echoed through the tower as he managed to break it free. Letting it drop to the ground, he leaned back against the walls of the cage, out of breath from his exertion.

"You're back in," he panted, motioning for her to start sawing through the Xs again. The respite far too short for her taste, Shadowmere nonetheless started her efforts again. "What's your name?" The question caught her by surprise, making her lift her dark head and stare quizzically at Menien before she answered.

"Shadowmere." Each time someone asked her name, some small part of her rejoiced, like a little ember revived by a breath of air. The name made her a noun, not a random string of adjectives, as she had been for so long.

"Huh, I knew a man with a horse named Shadowmere once, never knew a person with that name." Menien was clearly trying to distract from the overwhelming situation, and she was grateful for the effort.

"What was his name?" she asked, already knowing the answer and trying to hide her amused smirk. "The man, I mean. You already said the horse's name."

"Hannibal Traven." Though she had been anticipating the answer, at the mere mention of his name, Shadowmere was overcome with a strange wave of emotion; Hannibal had been like a father to her, and a friend. Yet some part of her still held a grudge with him for what he had done to her, but his actions had almost certainly saved her life. _"How can I feel so damn much and not be able to put a name to any part of it?"_

"Mage's Guild, right?" She asked, even as she tried not to think about Hannibal.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"I've heard the name," she said, taking meticulous care with her word choice. _"Too much, but I've heard it."_ Menien shook his head and scoffed.

"He'd walk from Anvil to Kvatch and back with that horse, damnedest thing I ever saw," he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Wouldn't ride it until a few months after he got it." Shadowmere chuckled under her breath, though she said nothing. _" 'Couldn't ride it' is a more correct statement,"_ she thought, moving to saw through another X. "He's head of the whole guild now, according to the Black Horse Courier," he added, preemptively gripping the second hoop. Shadowmere nodded, falling into a rhythm with her sword and her limbs, moving with the same perpetual motion of a pendulum, or breathing or a bird's beating wing. Something so natural and thoughtless that it became effortless, though she had yet to find the effortless part of this nauseatingly simple, yet difficult, work.

"Does he still have the horse?" she asked, the question asinine in and of itself, but it would be interesting to hear what the rumors of her existence were.

"Nah, he gave it away after he made head of the Anvil guild," he said, shaking his head. "I doubt the nag is still alive anyway. Hannibal said it was in its twenties when he got it and horses don't live that much longer from there."

"They can live to be older than that," she said, grinning to herself. "And who knows what mages do to their animals anyway? That mare could live to be older than both of us."

"How'd you know that?" he asked, looking at her oddly. "I don't think I mentioned that the horse was a mare." _"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!"_ For each expletive, she mentally kicked herself for being so linguistically careless and tried to make herself think faster for an excuse, making her pause her work for a millisecond.

"I'm a woman and my name's Shadowmere," she said, and started sawing again, relieved when the thought came floating to the top of her thoughts like a like a bubble drifting toward the surface of a pond. "I'm naturally going to think anything with my name is female." Menien nodded, and Shadowmere mentally sighed, promising herself to not bait the conversations anymore.

"How's it coming?" he asked, mercifully getting off of the topic.

"Almost through," she murmured, trying to push aside her memories of Hannibal, her own foolishness, and thoughts of pendulums and birds and whose bones the Xs had been. She was almost all the way through and, with her hand bleeding through her makeshift bandage, she didn't want to be distracted when she was so close to her goal.

"Alright," she panted, dropping the sword. "Try this one." Taking a steeling breath, Menien tightened his hold on the hoop. Jerking as hard as his worn body could manage, he and Shadowmere were both disappointed when his act did nothing. Discouragement swept across Menien's face, any hope washed away like letters in the sand. "Let's try this together," Shadowmere said quickly, taking hold of the hoop with Menien. "One, two, three." They shook the hoop but ultimately couldn't jar it.

"Shadowmere, you've got to get out of here," Menien said, disappointment and fear in his eyes. "Your friend is going to get the stone soon and then you're going to be trapped here. I've made my peace with dy-"

"Shut it, Menien!" Shadowmere didn't mean to shout, but it was all she could do to keep her own desperation under control. "You're not going to die in here!" With words to match her resolve she now sought the actions to go along with them. She found a higher place to hold on Menien's cage and climbed until her feet were resting on the damaged hoop and, in an act of sheer hopelessness, she jumped up and landed as hard as she could on the hoop. Again she leapt in the air and came down heavily, feeling the bone give just a little. "Come on, come on," she said, jumping again and throwing all of her weight into the landing before leaping up again and repeating the process.

As the seconds seemed to fly by like water through a sieve, she kept jumping, almost madly, like a bewitched follower of Sheogorath, the madgod. Her feet throbbing and her lungs burning, Shadowmere was almost ready to give up, when she felt herself fall a little further than last time and didn't have the time to regain her balance and stop herself from falling backwards. Even as she hit the unnaturally hard floor, a feeling of surprise and relief flooded her body as the clang of the hoop being broken loose and tumbling down the stock of the cage resounded off the walls of the spire and crashed through her ears. It was one of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. "Okay…" she breathed, grabbing the vertical bars, pulling herself up and bending at the waist to catch her breath. "Get out of there." Menien didn't need to be told twice as he struggled up and tossed his leg over the lowest hoop and bent over to duck through the space they had made. Shadowmere didn't pay his actions much mind, as she sat drinking in the air as though it was the finest flin in all of Morrowind.

"Problem," Menien said tentatively. Glancing up, Shadowmere saw that Menien was caught between two of the upright supports of the cage, his shoulders and one leg through, but his hips and other leg still trapped inside the cage. Suddenly feeling a crush of time on her shoulders, Shadowmere grabbed him by the forearms, feeling him grip hers with vice-like strength as she tugged. "Hold on, my hip's caught," he said, trying to maneuver into a different position. A sudden roar of a fire being fanned with a bellows made both of them lurch with fear, the tower shaking badly.

"What the hell was that?" Shadowmere asked, a sinking feeling coming into her stomach as the tower swayed and Menien's hands gripped harder.

"If I had to guess, I'd say the lock to the sigil keep has been breached," Menien said, his face going white. "You're friend is almost ready to close the gate." Her skin crawling until it felt as though her ears would meet in the back of her head, Shadowmere grabbed Menien and pulled him as hard as she could, all but jerking him up and down as though she was birthing a calf, until she felt him come through with a scream.

"By the Gods!" he exclaimed, clutching her shoulders as he stumbled in pain, nearly taking both of them to the floor. "I think you broke my hip!" Struggling to stay upright, she scoffed at his assumed injury and focused on not winding up on her backside so soon after having gotten off of it.

"By Azura, how old are you? Eighty?" Not waiting for an answer, Shadowmere kept one of his arms over her shoulder, her hand wrapped around his belt and started running as fast as she could down the ramp. She threw the heavy door open, raced across the high bridge, without pausing to be afraid of its height, and down the levels of the tower, now thankfully free of its daedric denizens. Despite the deadweight she supported, she raced past the broken pillars and fighting plant that still lunged and lashed at Shadowmere and Menien. Already fighting exhaustion and pain as they passed the broken bridge, where Shadowmere had almost fallen to a fiery death, they were thrown about when a violent roar, like a thousand daedroths howling in a chorus, made the ground shake and the very air waiver while the pools of lava shook with ripples and the jagged stone alcoves started to shed layer after layer of their rocks.

"She's got it!" Menien screamed, his fear and desperation giving him the look of a blind man running alone through an unknown forest. "Your friend's got the stone! Get out of here!" Shadowmere paid no mind as she continued to run her almost hopeless marathon toward the gate back to Kvatch. _"Like hell I will!"_ She protested to no one but herself and, despite Menien's protests and howls of pain, she gripped his belt tighter and hefted his arm around her shoulder and continued to haul him away from the world that was crumbling down around them.

"Come on Menien, we're almost there," she panted, running as they rapidly approached the gate. It wasn't as though he had a whole lot of say in the matter; the man was just trying to hold on and not trip her. As the very sky seemed to fall down on them, Shadowmere and Menien stumbled through the flaming portal, tumbling back into Tamriel, the gate falling to ruin behind them.


	12. Chapter 12

Battle Wounds

Shadowmere kept her eyes squeezed shut, just breathing the warm, sweet night air, the taste free of sick and fear. The ground, though hardened and cracked from the heat and weight of the portals, was like the finest, softest down mattress she had ever laid on. She could almost feel her lungs healing with each breath of the ephemeral nectar, even as the pain caught up to the rest of her body and Menien was just shy of writhing on the ground beside her.

"They're out!" The mildly familiar voice sounded rapt and incredulous as it approached her, the footsteps shaking the ground as they drew closer. "Captain Matius, we've got wounded!" The voice was much closer, and the footsteps seemed to have multiplied while more voices echoed the same news over and over.

"Goneld! God damn, am I glad to see you!" That was Captain Matius, she remembered his voice, but instead of being greyed with exhaustion and frustration, it was colored with a palette of relief.

"It's good to be out," Menien said, his voice painted by the same artist that had done the Captain's. "I'd kiss you if I could get up Captain." The sound of a hand clapping a shoulder stippled the air and a pair of footsteps pounded away, though Menien kept speaking. "Is she alright?"

"She?" A familiar sounding city guard's vocal canvas now had a streak of confusion running through it, as though he hadn't seen the Dunmer woman lying on the ground.

"Shadowmere," Menien insisted through his no doubt staggering pain. "The one who pulled me out."

"She's fine," herself chimed in, knowing that hearing was sometimes believing. "She needs a stiff drink, but she's fine." Shadowmere blinked into the darkened sky, what little light there was blocked out by faces of the remaining Kvatch city guards standing over her. An Altmer guard laughed nervously and tried to smile.

"Don't we all?" he said, his golden skin jaundiced and waxy looking. "We should get Menien down to the encampment and then go find the captain," he said, looking to the other guards who nodded. _"Yeah, don't mind me, I'm just going to lie here and bleed quietly,"_ Shadowmere thought with some spite as the High Elf and another guard hurried to their fallen comrade. She knew she had a tendency to blend into the night, but could they really not see her there?

"Can you stand, Shadowmere?" She nodded, suddenly not feeling so invisible and taking the anonymous hand that came out of the sky. "I know you've done a lot, but do you think you could help us get to the chapel?" Before Shadowmere could even nod, or think about the discomfort hanging on every pore of her skin, pain exploded through both of her feet as she tried to bring them into her body to stand. A groan choked in her throat, the sound trapped by the sheer magnitude of sound it would take to express the agony that brought her to her side as she reached down and wrapped her hands around her feet, which felt as though someone had driven a dull stake through them.

"What the hell?" she yelled, the closest she could get to expressing her pain. She wanted to scream and swear and bawl out the world, but she settled for wrapping her hands firmly around her shins; the closest she could get to her feet without pain giving her the urge to puke. "I just ran across a plane of Oblivion!" As much as she wanted to just lie on the ground and rest, she was furious with her body for betraying her while she still needed it.

"I guess that's a 'no' on getting to the chapel," the voice said again, now tinged with genuine concern.

"It'll be fine," Shadowmere said, trying to downplay how much she hurt. "It's probably just cramps from running so hard with Menien on my back." She knew this was worse than simple muscle cramps, but she wanted to keep the action moving toward the city gate. If the soldier was distracted by her, it would take away the chances of a successful mission in the ruins of the city. If he went on his merry way, she could crawl down to the encampment and get whatever healing she needed there. Despite her best laid plans, the soldier's attentions weren't moved.

"Let's get you down to the encampment too," he said, his voice kind. "Even if it's cramps, you may not make it down on your own." Feeling a little nauseated at the sudden onslaught of pain, Shadowmere almost didn't notice herself lifted into waiting arms, as though she was nothing more than a child.

"I swear, I don't know what happened," she muttered, feeling embarrassed about having to be taken care of. "You saw me, I was just fine when we came out."

"Well, you may be right," he said. "It may just be that they cramped up when you got the chance to relax," her steed said, trying to reassure her. "Not to worry." Shadowmere heard him, but was distracted about how to hold her arms; her position was awkward, with her right arm pinned against the man's cuirass and her left one flopping free. She had never been carried like this before and had little knowledge of how to properly position herself while in someone's arms. "Put your arms around my neck," the guard said, practically sensing her thoughts. "It'll help support you. It'll also keep your elbow out of my sternum." She recognized the voice now; it was the man who wanted her name for the memorial with which he assumed she would be honored posthumously.

"Sorry," she muttered, wrapping her arms around her bearer's neck, clasping her hands around her forearms, finding that he change in position did help. "I'm usually the carrier."

"No apologies necessary," the man reassured her firmly, treading carefully as he made his way down a slope to the encamped remains of the town. "You deserve a lift after what you did." Truth be told, Shadowmere hadn't really carried anyone since she was a horse; she had more or less dragged Menien. _"Menien,"_ she thought suddenly. "Is Menien alright?" she asked, digging her fingernails into her arms to keep from groaning in discomfort as his steps jarred her legs.

"He looks like he's in about the same shape as you, unfortunately for him," the man said. "A couple of other city guards have him. He looks a little beat up, and one leg is broken or something, but mostly he's just dehydrated and hungry." Tensely shaking her head, Shadowmere couldn't stay silent.

"He was in a cage made of iron and bone at the top of a tower made of fire that could give frostbite," she said as firmly as she could manage. "If he's only hungry and dehydrated, you're not looking closely enough." She cringed and said no more, trying to focus on not wincing with every step the man took.

"I'll make a note of that," he said, almost as though he intended to do just that. "Sigrid!" The man bellowed, brushing back the curtain to a tent and setting Shadowmere on one of the sleep mats. "We need some healing potions!" Shadowmere covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow, gritting her teeth as the man unlaced her boots, the agony in her feet near overwhelming. She didn't want to cry in front of the guard, and certainly not in front of the townspeople. They had been through enough without her boo-hooing added to the mix.

"You may be out of luck Jesan," a woman's voice said from nearby. "Most of my stuff is back inside the city gates or inside your friends. The only things I have left are pretty low strength." Shadowmere let out a moan as the guard pulled her boots off, and she lurched to her side to throw up from the excruciation that started with her toes, pushed through her body and ended in her toenails, like a rope doubling back on itself.

"Oh Gods," he muttered, covering his mouth. "Unfortunately, I don't think this just cramps," he admitted to Shadowmere. She did NOT need to be told that.

"How do they look?" she asked through gritted teeth. The guard sighed, the nausea almost audible in his breath, the sound not lending a great deal of confidence to Shadowmere.

"To put it mildly, broken," he said as calmly as he could manage. "Two broken feet over here," the man said, his face twisting a little at the sight, making her stomach clench again. "She needs some kind of help."

"Shit!" Shadowmere had a sinking feeling at the Nord woman's outburst. "It's waaay too late to deal with something this severe!" Trying not to grimace, Shadowmere lifted her head to try and see her feet, but the city guard put his hand on her forehead and gently pressed her head back against the threadbare pillow.

"You probably don't want to see it," he said with a frightened voice that masqueraded as a confident soother. "This is about as bad of a non life-threatening injury as I've ever seen."

"_So much for patient morale,"_ she thought miserably.

"I'm no healer, and the stuff I have won't heal broken bones without them being set. In a pinch I could maybe set one bone, but there's at least ten bones here, not to mention the…" The Nord woman wavered, making Shadowmere's stomach bubble. "Well, there's just too much for me to be able to do on my own."

"So I'm screwed, is that the gist of it?" Shadowmere asked briskly. She knew healers, or those acting in that capacity, had a tendency to beat around the bush and sugar coat the truth, and she just wanted to get to the meat of the matter.

"Unless Brother Martin can do anything about it," the Nord woman said with all the honesty of a four year old. "He's a decent healer, he may be able to help you out, especially since you closed the gate." Shadowmere scoffed.

"All I did was pull out Menien," she muttered. "Saeana's the one who closed the gate."

"Your friend?" Shadowmere nodded, hazarding a glance at her feet despite the guard's hand still resting on her forehead. She immediately wished that she hadn't.

"Gods' blood," she hissed between her teeth at the sight, putting her head back down quickly, trying to forget what she had just seen. The damage started at her ankles, which were crumpled and swollen into an unnaturally small area, and made its way into her feet, which were strangely distorted, the arches bent the opposite direction, and ended in her toes, screwed into unnatural positions, some torqued backwards, some jerked to the side. Somehow finding the nerve to take another look, her stomach churned harder at the sight of her second toe on her left foot flopped over, the skinless bone sticking out of her foot. "No wonder it hurts like hell."

"How did this happen?" the soldier said, unable to look at the display of podiatric gore for very long either. "There's no way you couldn't have known about it." Shadowmere shook her head, struggling to think of what had transpired to cause her to have such injuries.

"I don't know, I don't think I did anything out of the ordinary," she grunted, dredging her mind for answers. "I was fine running through Oblivion, I was fine going up the tower, I was fine cutting Menien out of the cage, I was fine jumping up and down on the bars, I was fine when I jumped off of the bars and I was fine hauling our asses home!" The alchemist thought for a moment, twirling a loose strand of her blond hair.

"If I had to guess, I'd say that you probably broke them jumping up and down on the cage," she started, carefully considering each word. "Probably just a hairline fracture at first, maybe a little worse, and as you ran, it was like a crack in a pane of glass; it just started climbing up your bones, splitting them all the way until you're left with what you have now. If you were focused on getting back to the gate, you probably didn't notice until you got back."

"How could I ignore something like this?" she muttered, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead. "My feet look like the insides of sausages!" The woman shrugged, tucking her hair away.

"I'm no doctor or healer or anything, but I've heard that sometimes when you're in a stressful or dangerous situations, your body can ignore pain in order to get you to safety," she offered. "Maybe that's what happened." While she wasn't sure she bought into the Nord's theory, Shadowmere certainly didn't have any better ideas, and accepted the hypothesis as law merely because she hurt too much to truly care.

"There's nothing you can do?" she asked through her teeth.

"I guess I could try to stick the end of your toe back on," the potion peddler said, sitting on the end of the bedroll, the minute movement causing Shadowmere to gasp. "You want me to?" Without a second's hesitation, she tightly shook her head.

"You're option B," she grunted, her teeth still clenched. "You said Brother Martin was a healer? Where is he?"

"Still in Kvatch, I suspect," Jesan, the guard who had carried her, spoke up. "Captain Matius is going back into the city to clear out the remaining creatures inside the gate. After that, Brother Martin should be able to come and take care of you."

"Awesome," she grumbled with cynicism. "Do you have any whiskey or wine or something until then?" The pain was beginning to eat through the muscles in her legs. "I'd settle for a hammer to the back of my head." The younger guard shook his head.

"Sorry, we haven't got any concussion hammers; our blacksmith hoards them," he said with harried sarcasm. "Whiskey and brandy went in the first wave, but we may have some wine." The city guard hurried out, leaving Shadowmere alone with the Nord woman.

"Did Saeana get out?" she asked, her mind flashing to her friend for the first time in the time since she'd gotten out of the gate.

"Yeah, she's fine; certainly better off than you are," the healer said softly. A sudden stinging below her eye made Shadowmere jump, which in turn caused her to gasp in pain as her jump jarred her legs. "It's alright, you've got a cut on your face, I'm just cleaning it."

"Why not just use the healing potion you've got?" she asked, still cringing. "Just wipe some on a rag and put it on my face."

"Well, unfortunately we don't have enough supplies to use healing potions on cuts and bruises," the woman said, as though admitting defeat. "Water will do fine until your feet are set, which I'm not overly sure how to do. And if you drink the potion, it'll fix up the cuts and bruises just fine; it'll also start healing your feet in the position that they're in, but it won't finish the job. Your feet would have to be re-broken before being set." The thought of having her partially healed feet crushed again, this time by unskilled human hands, was even less appealing to Shadowmere than the idea of the alchemist sticking the end of her toe back on the bone; a feat that boggled the mind.

"I would be alright with avoiding that," she said, looking up at the woman for a moment before closing her eyes once more.

"I thought you would be," the woman said, continuing her gentle dabbing near Shadowmere's eyes before giving a curious 'hmm…' and letting her rag fall. "How'd you get all these wounds on your arms?" she asked, setting down the rag and pulled her right forearm into her lap, pushing her sleeve over her elbow and running her fingers over her injuries.

"The big ones or the little ones?" she asked, using her thumb and forefinger of her bloodied left hand to massage the bridge of her nose.

"The ones that look like whip marks." Shadowmere gave a slight laugh, though the motion made her a little dizzy, knowing the woman would likely not believe her story about the other-worldly flora.

"A plant," she said bluntly. The healer looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"A plant?" The blonde asked, not quite believing her story.

"A plant," she confirmed. Gesturing toward her pack, she narrowly avoided backhanding the healer, who leaned back just in time. "There's some sprigs of it in with my gear." Walking on her knees, Sigrid, Shadowmere now recalled her name, began gingerly removing the items from the pack, apparently under the impression that Shadowmere was meticulous about how her things were packed. A gasp made Shadowmere think she had either found the sprigs, or cut herself on something, either one being a distinct possibility.

"By Ysmir's beard!" she exclaimed, staring intently at her hands. "This is harrada!" Shadowmere grunted instead of shrugging, knowing overwhelming pain would be the result of the subtle movement.

"I guess that has more significance to you than to me," she murmured. "What's so special about it?" The woman scoffed, as though she couldn't believe someone in the world DIDN'T know about the strange plant.

"Well, not only is it extremely rare," she started, gathering the inert sprigs of harrada into a small bundle and secured it by wrapping a bit of grass around the middle. "Some people have died trying to harvest it." Shadowmere nodded, wishing that the plant had succeeded. _"Anything that would rid me of this pain." _"Is it alright if I keep this?" The healer waved the little bouquet in her thumb and finger.

"Fine by me." Shadowmere didn't particularly care about the fate of the rare plant that had beaten the hell out of her. "Use it in good health," she added. Sigrid smiled and put the plant into her pocket.

"Thanks," she said. The way the corners of her mouth lingered upward made Shadowmere's pain abate for a minute, knowing she had brought a small amount of joy to a woman in a dismal, joyless place. She was able to enjoy a moment of dulled pain and cooled mind before her foot twitched and nearly knocked the wind out of her. Tickled with her gift, the healer barely noticed when Shadowmere winced and dug her fingernails into the ground on either side of the bedroll. "Alright, now that that's settled," she said, kneeling beside Shadowmere once again, setting a bowl on the ground and wringing out a rag. "How did you get the other cuts on your hand and arms?" The healer gently wiped the blood from the gouges on her arms as best she could without cutting the armor.

"The big ones?" Shadowmere asked, her lips moving only as much as necessary.

"Yes."

"Scamp. I put my arm around its neck and my hand over its mouth and it clawed and bit me. Turns out they're not too fond of being killed." Sigrid nodded, continuing her cleaning of Shadowmere's wounds. For someone who claimed to not be a healer, she had a soothing touch and Shadowmere could almost feel the lesions closing themselves.

"Well it turns out we aren't so fond of being killed either," she said, raising her eyebrows as she focused on her work. "So I assume your hand's been chewed up as well?" she asked, noticing the bloodied sock bound around her hand. The nod that Shadowmere used to confirm the Nord's statement made her bite her lip, the minute gesture enough to cause pain.

"It's not super high up on the list of priorities of things to fix," she added quickly, her fingers instinctively curling into a fist to keep her bandage where it was. "Right now, if it's above my waist, it's not important to me." Shadowmere closed her eyes as Sigrid's fingers found her mangled palm.

"If it's at all as bad as I think it is, I'd like to at least have it cleaned before Brother Martin heals it, so let me have a look."

"I thought you weren't a healer."

"I'm not, but I know how to administer first aid, which puts me a step above anyone else around here except maybe Batul. She can take care of burns as well as I can."

"She's the smith?"

"Yeah. Burns are just a part of the job for her."

"Well, this isn't a burn, it's a bite and it'll be fine."

"How about I take a look so you can prove me wrong?"

"Fine, just be careful. I think it's still bleeding." Not wanting to jinx her small victory, the Nord woman gingerly unwrapped the makeshift bandage and whistled at the sight of Shadowmere's hand.

"Well, this needs to be addressed," she said quietly, though clearly showing some restraint. "I can see bone." Even the word "bone" made Shadowmere's feet hurt a little more, though the knowledge that the scamp's bite had driven to the very core of her hand also added to her discomfort.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, wanting to settle the matter. It was amazing to her that, with a disaster of this magnitude, the Imperial Guard wasn't sending aid. She had no personal stake in the battle that had taken place here, yet she had stepped up. Why couldn't the country take care of its own citizens?

"Ideally," the Nord said, bringing her attention back to her mangled left hand. "Once you're a little more comfortable I'd like to put in some stitches." Shadowmere did not find this agreeable.

"Are you off your rocker?" She yelped, fighting her natural reaction to jerk upright. Even though she merely lifted her head, her body promptly revolted and made her gasp out loud. Patting her shoulder, an attempt at calming her, Sigrid waited a moment before continuing in her plan.

"I've done it before," she said calmly as Shadowmere's neck relaxed and her head lowered back to the thin pillow. "It's not like you'd be a test subject."

"Well that's comforting." Test subject or not, the idea of stitches was something altogether unappealing to Shadowmere. An image of this woman, a good five inches and fifty pounds larger than her, holding down her bleeding arm and passing a filthy yarn needle through her slashed flesh struck more fear into her mind than standing on the narrow bridge back in Oblivion. "Why the hell would I let you do that?"

"Because the less that's wrong with you when we finally get Martin in here to heal you, the better the chance of your feet healing properly," Sigrid said with damnable logic. Before Shadowmere could express her true feelings on the subject, the tent flap opened.

"Alright Shadowmere with black hair," Jesan's voice was triumphant and Shadowmere could only hope that it meant that he had something for her pain. "Athrelor had a few bottles of Tamika's good stuff. Let's get you soused."

"I'll drink to that," she groaned, pushing herself up and out of Sigrid's grasp, though the pain the motion wrought nearly made her defecate. Taking the bottle with her intact hand, she proceeded to chug nearly half the bottle in one go, though a few dribbles ran down her chin and cheeks.

"Take it easy, you're going to pass out if you drink like that!" Shadowmere glared at the young city guard and chuckled darkly.

"Is that supposed to convince me to stop?" she asked, taking another swallow. Jesan sighed, and shook his head.

"I suppose it wouldn't convince me," he admitted, taking the bottle and downing a swig. "Your health," he added raising it before taking another drink and handing it back.

"Thanks," she said, drinking again and feeling a little lightheaded already, though it hadn't diminished the pain in her lower extremities. Though she wasn't typically a wine-drinker, she dove head-long into her bottle, trying to not mind the taste.

"Alright, if you're set for the moment, I'm going back up to the city to help to help Captain Matius and your friend try to get Count Brandywine out of the castle," Jesan said, stealing one more swallow of the medicinal wine. "Take care of yourself," he said, giving a brief smile before getting up and disappearing behind the tent flap.

"Thanks for the booze!" she shouted after him, before taking another swig. "You want some of this?" she asked, offering the bottle to the unamused Nord.

"No, I don't drink," she said flatly. Although it sent a wave of agony through her extremities, Shadowmere laughed harder than she had laughed in her recent memory.

"I'm- I'm- ow- I'm sorry!" she panted, unable to find the air in her lungs to speak between the laughter and the pain. "You're just the first Nord I've ever met who's on the wagon." Sigrid rolled her eyes.

"I meant that I don't drink wine," she elucidated. "If I didn't drink, my family would disown me." Whether from the sudden surge of alcohol in her blood, or the loss of said blood, Shadowmere found this funny as well, but she restrained herself to giggling foolishly while she laid flat, her head rolling side to side.

"Does your family live here?" She asked, lifting her head to take another drink, though most of the mouthful dribbled down the sides of her mouth and down her chin onto her neck. She was beyond caring how sloppy she looked. Sigrid shook her head.

"Most are back in Skyrim," she said shuffling away on her knees. "My sister and her man live in Bruma. I can't tell you how often I've told them to come live here; they would have loved our arena. But now, I've never been happier that they weren't here." Shadowmere nodded, glad she didn't have family about whom to worry. _"Except Saeana and Ilura,"_ she thought to herself. Drinking deeply from the bottle, she wondered why she was thinking of Ilura now. This was the second time in a day that she had found herself thinking of this woman when she hadn't concerned herself with Ilura's welfare in years. She had thought of her on occasion, she was an unavoidable memory, but she hadn't worried for her. Taking another swallow, she tried to suppress the discomfort she felt, not from her physical pain, but from something more intangible, something considerably less obvious than her shattered bones. "Tamika's wines aren't diluted," Sigrid commented with a hint of warning. "When that wine hits your system, it's going to hit hard." Shadowmere rolled her eyes with a sigh of frustration.

"Are you folks under the impression that I'm drinking casually here?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as unnecessarily exasperated as she felt. "I'm drinking for medicinal purposes; I want to get too drunk to feel the pain or, preferably, to knock myself out until Martin's able to heal me. The harder it hits, the better." She leaned her head back and lifted the bottle of wine over her head. "Take me Sanguine, I'm yours!" Sigrid shook her head and looked at the roof of the tent as Shadowmere downed another gulp.

"If it hits all at once, you're going to start throwing up," she said reasonably, looking at Shadowmere as though her eyes could speak with the voice of experience. "Which will ultimately result in a hell of a lot more pain. All I'm asking is that you drink slowly." Shadowmere rolled her eyes, taking another sip, although she relented by taking a smaller one this time.

"Look, if you want to help me, find me a reed or something so I don't have to lift my head to drink," she insisted, the discomfort not waning in the slightest. Sighing, the Nord woman shifted over toward a scorched and battered chest and began digging through it.

"I can't guarantee that I have any," she said, setting assortments of herbs and recipe cards aside. "I don't know how I did it, but I managed to haul this trunk out and that was it. Whatever's in it is all I have." Shadowmere said nothing, but continued to drink, sloshing some of the liquid across her chest. "Why don't we just prop up your head?"

"Ngh-!" She had started off saying a simple "no" which she had intended to follow with an explanation as to why this suggestion was undesirable. Instead, Shadowmere wound up choking on the mouthful of wine she had taken and spouting it out of her mouth, some in a fine mist, the rest in droplets mixed with spit. Pushing herself upright, despite the radiant agony the movement caused, she coughed and choked, working up a sweat with the fury of her hacking.

"You were saying?" Sigrid asked, looking toward the Dunmer, who now moaned with pain as she gingerly lowered herself back to the ground.

"I- *ahem* I don't want to sit up," she said with hoarse sheepishness. "It aggravates the pain in my legs." The Nord laughed out loud.

"So it wouldn't have made sense to stay upright while you were choking and prop you up that way, would it?" Pressing her head back against the ground, Shadowmere groaned at her own stupidity and Sigrid's enjoyment of her distress.

"Shut up," she muttered, sloshing another swig into her mouth. Truth be told, if it hadn't hurt so damn much, Shadowmere probably would have laughed at herself too. Instead, she covered her eyes again and attempted to drown her pain in the liquor.

"Here," Sigrid sighed sympathetically, holding out a single reed, held between her first two fingers. "If you're going to drink, at least don't waste it. I die a little inside every time liquor is wasted." Taking the simple gift, Shadowmere stuck the dried reed into her bottle of wine and took a test sip. Finding the results to her satisfaction, she proceeded to guzzle the alcohol.

"Thank you," she said, between gulps. Sigrid smiled, turning back to the trunk and pawing through it once again.

"Be careful with it, it's the only one I could find," she said, walking on her knees back over to Shadowmere and pulling her arm off of her eyes, letting it rest on her stomach. "Let me clean this hand up a little better." Already inebriated past the point of caring, Shadowmere continued to chugged her "medicine" as Sigrid poured water over her palm and dabbed it with a rag. As she drank deeply, Shadowmere was startled by a sudden twinge of stabbing pain her hand.

"Ow!" she yelped, making sure she swallowed her mouthful of wine before crying out. "Easy there, Shinji! What the hell are you doing?"

"Cleaning," she said simply, her tone indicating something less than honesty.

"With what? Broken glass?" Sigrid sighed in exasperation and looked up at Shadowmere, apparently with a new approach.

"Tell you what Shadowmere," she said, ready to make a deal. "Every time I hurt you, you get to take a drink." For almost the first time since she had locked lips with the bottle, Shadowmere pulled her mouth away from it as she looked at Sigrid with sudden suspicion.

"Are you planning on beating me with a rock or something?" She was only too aware of how un-sober she sounded, but she felt her mind was still fully functional. "Because I will fight you!" If it was absolutely necessary, she **could** clock Sigrid over the head with the wine bottle, or so she told herself. _"Not to worry friend,"_ she reassured the bottle, assuming it could read her mind. _"It would be only as a last resort."_

"No," Sigrid said, sighing once again as she shook her head. "I'm not planning on beating you, particularly not with a rock, since that would make an awful mess, but sometimes cleaning wounds is painful work. So every time you feel pain, go ahead and drink." Shadowmere scoffed.

"You people don't have enough bottles." Sigrid sighed for the untold numbered time, and looked as though she was actively suppressing the urge to kill.

"Well, then only drink when the pain spikes," she said, the sound leaking from behind clenched teeth. This was agreeable to Shadowmere, and she took another sip before leaning back her head against the pallet. A jab of pain came almost immediately after Sigrid set about her work.

"Hoooooly gods!" she gasped, using what little control she had to keep from jerking her hand out of Sigrid's grasp and instead guzzling more wine. "What the hell?" she asked, almost before she had swallowed.

"Drink," Sigrid said simply, not looking up.

"I just did!"

"Then do it some more." Shadowmere chortled; Sigrid didn't exactly have to twist her arm to encourage that behavior.

"You're the healer," she said, taking another drink of her prescribed antidote. She nearly choked on it once again when the blazing pain returned, like someone setting a fire in the palm of her hand. Instead of howling or making some other verbal racket, she took a drink and stayed quiet. As she winced, she could feel something crawling through her skin, like a snake in her blood. _"Some of my hair was probably on the sock,"_ she assumed, taking a drink, though she felt no aggravation to her pain at the moment. _"It probably got stuck in the cut and Sigrid's pulling it out." _Still, as the moments went by, she couldn't help but notice a strange pattern; there would be a stab in her hand, then the crawling sensation, then another stab and a painful tug. All of the steps were intermingled with swallows of wine and Shadowmere cursing under her breath, but that part didn't seem all that relevant. Even in her state of increasing drunkenness, she recognized that something was amiss. Lifting her head just a little, she let out an angered cry when she saw how Sigrid was "cleaning" her hand.

"Since when are wounds cleaned by sewing them closed?" she yelped, switching her glares from her hand to Sigrid's now annoyed face.

"I did clean it, first of all," the woman said, looking down as though she thought to continue her work while Shadowmere had her inebriated temper tantrum. "Second, you were bleeding like stink and this is the best way I know to stop bleeding of this magnitude. Third, if you just shut up and let me finish the job, I'll give you some of my reserve bottle of brandy." Shadowmere contemplated this, nursing the bottle as she thought. _"I really don't want stitches,"_ she considered. _"But some brandy on top of the wine would make for a __**bitchin'**__ time."_

"Alright," she slurred, taking another swig of the wine. "Take me in at the seams!"

"That's what I wanted to hear," Sigrid said waiting for her to finish her drink. "You ready?" Shadowmere smiled dazedly and nodded, pressing the straw to her lips in preparation for the Nord woman's medicine.

I promise, more chapters are coming…


	13. Chapter 13

Reunion

Lamentably for Shadowmere, the wine didn't hit as hard as she thought it might; it merely gave the pain a slightly more transcendental feel in addition to the raging agony of her shattered feet and Sigrid piercing her skin with the needle. She managed to distract herself by thinking of the whiskey she was owed and, for reasons of which she wasn't entirely sure, singing a slurred version of the cliff racer song she had heard from Reynald, the drunk in Chorrol.

"How many verses are you going to sing?" Sigrid asked with a sigh, clearly fed up with the musical accompaniment.

"How many more stishes are you goin' to put in?" Shadowmere asked before taking another swallow from the exsanguinated bottle.

"I'm almost done," Sigrid assured her, passing the needle through her hand once more.

"You better be," Shadowmere warned, rolling her head over toward her, now too lazy to lift it. "The wine's almost go-NE!" Her voice jerked at the end of her sentence as the Nord woman tied off her suture.

"There we go," she said, sighing with relief and leaning back on her knees. "All sewn up, no more bones sticking out. Well…" She realized her mistake with a mere glance at Shadowmere's feet. "No more bones sticking out of your **hand**." Shadowmere scoffed, not entirely pleased with Sigrid's statement.

"The fact that you have to make the specicat- pecific-" She stopped and took a breath before trying again to make her case. "…to point that out does NOT make me feel happy!" Shadowmere rewarded herself for getting through the sentence with another swallow of wine, even as the reed was sucking air at the bottom of the bottle. Sigrid laughed a little as she dipped her hands into a cauldron of cold water, trying to scrub off the blood that had formed sickening red gloves on her skin, covering her from her broken fingernails to her wrists. "But whiskey would make me happy…er. It would make me happier." Sigrid shook her head, shaking off the water and wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress, the cleanest dry material around. She scooted over to the trunk and began rummaging around before pulling out a small silver flask which, from the sounds of it, was about half full.

"I can spare two capfuls of this for you," she said, gingerly pouring Shadowmere's apportioned dose. "But Menien's going to need some as well, and who knows what the people from the chapel are going to need."

"Hey, they all prolly still have skins on all their toes!" Shadowmere said, accepting her drink nonetheless and swallowing the liquid quickly before handing it back. Shadowmere wasn't typically a whiskey drinker, and the first had carved a fiery path down her gullet that nearly took her breath away entirely.

"Yes, but Menien has a hip socket without a hip in it and those people have been in the chapel for…" The Nord woman's face was suddenly twisted with worry and sorrow. "Strange…I really don't remember how long it's been." She poured another cap for Shadowmere before she shook the expression away like a dog shaking off water. Shadowmere accepted the cap and gulped quickly, disliking the taste, and handed the cap back while the liquor kept the fire burning in her throat.

"Gods that's good," she breathed, coughing a little after the second swallow. Sigrid laughed quietly, putting the cap back into place and stowing the bottle in the trunk once again.

"Not particularly, but I suppose it gets the job done," she said, looking somewhat longingly toward the trunk. Shadowmere felt guilty about having taken two shots when it was painfully apparent her caretaker needed one as well. "Well," she said quickly, closing the trunk and dusting off her hands. "Since you don't have the act of drinking to keep you awake, you should try and sleep until Brother Martin can get here."

"Don't you mean 'if' the good brother comes?" Shadowmere asked crassly, forgetting her words could have a negative impact on her surgeon's mood. Fortunately, Sigrid was unfazed by the comment.

"He'll come back," she said calmly. "After seeing that gate closed, I'm a believer in just about anything. Give your body a chance to rest."

"I'd rather stay awake," Shadowmere muttered, sucking uselessly out of the thoroughly saturated reed. "If I fall asleep I might sober up."

"Go to sleep, if you wake up sober I'll find you another bottle." Her eyes were already heavy, but Shadowmere didn't want to sleep. Being asleep wasn't entertaining enough for her current state of mind, where her vision was blurry and her other senses were skipping gleefully around her like frenzied First Seed hares. Instead, she decided on just closing her eyes, feeling surprisingly settled, if not comfortable, and Shadowmere paid rapt attention to the amusement her distorted senses were giving her.

Sigrid was opening the trunk again, the sound of the worn hinges creaking and the solid wood being lifted weaving a brandy-colored tapestry in her ears. As the lid came to a rest, the sound of her hands sifting through the contents added the echo of a few gentle, straw-brown thuds to the aural picture. "Absorption, Disbelief, Light, Night-Eye," Sigrid murmured, the sound of clinking bottles the accompaniment as she, evidently, took inventory of her supplies. "Encumbering touch, Chameleon, Greater Soul Trap," she listed off to the sound of the scrolls shifting paper. "Red caps, columbine, flax, dragon's tongue, imp gall, garlic, peony seeds, nightshade, redwart flowers, lotus seeds, harrada." Sigrid's list of ingredients from which she might restock her stores of potions was as thinly spread as the resources of the city guard.

Outside the tent, she heard people moving and soft babbling as they passed the news of what Shadowmere could only assume was the Oblivion Gate being closed. The words were lost on her bleary ears, but when she heard the exhaustion and bitter yellow despair in their voices, as she had heard when she and Saeana had first arrived in Kvatch, it had now been accompanied by a hopeful, sea-green descant.

She heard Sigrid let out a sigh and leaned against something, her trunk, Shadowmere guessed, and she was taken aback by the sound of the woman crying. The alchemist didn't sob, she didn't howl or scream, just wept softly and made Shadowmere feel guilty listening to it. _"She probably thinks I'm asleep, or passed out or something,"_ she realized, continuing her pretended sleep. She clearly wasn't supposed to hear it, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to force herself to fall asleep and stop the sound from reaching her brain.

The tears continued, now accompanied by the sounds of a new battle up the long hill where the Oblivion gate had been. The war cries and demonic screams started blending into Sigrid's grief made an ugly, bilious cacophony in Shadowmere's head. The scowling sound too terrible to listen to any longer, Shadowmere felt herself get up and start running, the pain in her feet apparently gone.

The light was in front of her again, and since the sound got quieter the closer she went to it, she ran as hard as she could, feeling her four legs…strange, she now had her own upper body, but the four legs and tail of horse. She didn't mind, it made the run go quicker. Feeling her hooves pound against the ground, she focused on their steady beat, accented by a light echo of the sound she recognized, in voices she knew, but didn't understand. As she ran, the echo became louder, as though she was reaching the source, and the light became almost unbearably bright, like dawn on new fallen snow…

"Is this her?" An unfamiliar man's voice interjected, the light darkening and the beautiful sound growing quieter.

"Yeah, this is her," Sigrid's voice piped in, laden with concern even as far away as it sounded. The songs from the clashes of arms had been replaced by the clattering aftermath of the battle that had taken place not far from her.

"Has she been sleeping long?" The man's voice from Shadowmere's side murmured. It sounded like her old quilt that Hannibal had made into a horse blanket for her; soft, warm, welcoming. As her consciousness returned to her, she groaned a little as the pain returned to her lower body.

"About an hour," Sigrid responded quietly. "She's probably still a little drunk; it's the only way we could make her comfortable."

"It didn't work!" Shadowmere slurred loudly, still coming around from her foray into Vaermina's realm. "I feel it all! It's like my feet are puking pain!" She stared up to see what the man crouching beside her looked like, but the dim light and double vision made it difficult to get a clear image. He had shaggy hair, gentle blue eyes, and was an Imperial, but beyond that it was difficult to make out.

"Just a little drunk?" he asked, turning toward Sigrid, who seemed to reconsider her words. "What's a fur mane?" he murmured to the apothecary, which sounded wildly foolish to Shadowmere.

"It's just a mane! Manes are made of fur!" she blathered stubbornly, almost completely incapacitated by the wine. It was shameful; she hadn't had enough, in her mind, that she would be this drunk.

"Her name's Shadowmere," Sigrid offered after a moment of confused silence. It took Shadowmere a bit longer to put the pieces together, but she eventually figured out that the man had said "what's her name?" and not "what's a fur mane?" She was too intoxicated to be embarrassed and settled for simply closing her eyes and wallowing in pain.

"Shadowmere, I'm Brother Martin," the man said, lowing himself to his knees and patting her hand, still wrapped around the now empty bottle of wine.

"I will accept you as my personal messiah if you are half the healer these people claim you are," Shadowmere groaned, not caring that her tipsy greeting was addressed to a man who was likely the lost heir to the Septim throne.

"How can I turn down such a proposal?" Martin asked, shuffling on his knees toward Shadowmere's battered feet, the sensation of the movement in the ground making her wince. "God's Blood," he murmured, as she saw his eyes widening even in the darkness. "Sigrid, do you have any magicka restorative potions?"

"No," Sigrid sighed. "Unless you're scared of the dark, I have no potions that are even moderately helpful."

"I can fix this, but I don't know how much I can heal once the bones are set. I'd prefer to let Oleta take this, but she's depleted her magicka."

"She's'n astronach?" Shadowmere asked, her slurring taking away from the lucidity of her question. "Her magicka won't come back on i's own?" The alchemist and the priest looked at each other in shared shock that the injured drunk had said something so coherent.

"Right," Martin said, after a moment of surprised quiet. "She's better at healing than anyone I've ever met, so I'd rather she help with this."

"Just cast spells at her," Shadowmere suggested. "She'll absorb some of them." She recalled Saeana and her experiments in Oblivion and tittered like the drunk she was when she thought of her friend screaming in fear at the sight of her boots and looking at her with adoration as she made fish faces.

"Oleta would probably be a little offended by that I'm afraid," Martin said politely, though his face gave away just how ludicrous he found her idea. "So, seeing as we're going to have to go without her help, I'll do my very best. But this will be a little painful," Martin warned, rubbing his hands together. "But try to hold still." As his fingertips brushed her skin, Shadowmere gasped and clutched at the ground. Though his touch on her toes was gentle, Martin may just as well have beaten her extremities with a sack of horseshoes. The pain she had felt before was miniscule compared to the agony that now surged through her legs, as though each drop of blood in her body was armed with razors that hacked at her legs from the inside and each bone fragment used a hammer to slam at the other bits of bone.

"Fffffuck!" she yelled, many times louder than she should have, considering the linguistic content of her interjection. "This is not a messianic act!" Her legs felt like a battleground for the splinters of her bone now raging freely inside her. Some fragments were using hammers, some daggers and some were spellcasters using fire, ice, lightning, and a few spells about which Shadowmere had never heard.

"Do you want something to bite down on?" Sigrid offered, looking unsure as to what she ought to be doing.

"No, I want something to hit him with!" she hollered through her clenched teeth, pounding her clenched fists against the ground. The Nord healer's question had been innocent, but the mere thought of biting down on anything when she was in such pain made Shadowmere think of nothing except the time she had bitten down on a wooden fork, saturated with soapy water. She remembered the gagging taste of the handle was only subdued by the gagging pain of having her knee set by Ilura's time-trained hands.

"Does he have talons?" Shadowmere didn't want to cry, it still felt wrong and weak to cry in front of so many people she didn't know who had just lost all they had, but Martin's touch was proving to be unendurable.

"I'm sorry Shadowmere, there's just no comfortable way to do this," Martin apologized, though not taking his cornflower eyes off of her feet. The feeling of her fragmented bones fidgeting around in her legs was something akin to a piece of flint being used to start a fire; her leg burning as the bones struck one another and caused sparks, bringing sickening cries from her throat.

"Shad?" Amidst her own groaning, the sounds of the tent flap being thrown aside and Saeana's frantic voice drifted like puffs of smoke through Shadowmere's pain and alcohol clouded brain. "Lux," she murmured, the motion of her hand making a slight breeze that cooled the sweat on Shadowmere's brow. The shelter was suddenly filled with an eerie green glow, as though a dozen will-o'-the-wisps had converged within the canvas walls and Shadowmere was reminded of their moment in Oblivion when Saeana had cast a Light spell. "Shadowmere, what happened?" Though relief poured over her forehead like a cool washcloth at the sound of Saeana's voice, Shadowmere still jumped a little when she dropped to her knees beside her and slid her hand into her own. She welcomed the embracing fingers just as fully as if they had been a bottle of liquor or a broken board with a nail in the end of it that she could use to hit Martin. It was an odd experience for her; for all her many injuries, accidental and intentional, the soapy fork in her mouth had been the only thing that Shadowmere had ever had to comfort her.

"I got Menien out," she moaned, her eyes and nose still covered by her now sweat laden elbow. "And you closed the gate."

"Yeah, I did," Saeana confirmed, squeezing her fingers. "We also got to the castle. Kvatch is as safe as it's going to be." The relief in Saeana's voice was surpassed only by her audible disbelief that they had actually accomplished the monumental task.

"We kicked some ass," Shadowmere commented, using the word 'we' a little generously, since it seemed that Saeana had done the lion's share of the ass kicking. Saeana smiled in agreement nonetheless.

"We sure did," she granted. Wincing sharply as Martin's hand moved toward her dangling toe, Shadowmere gripped her friend's hand and bit down on her lip.

"Do you believe in mercy killing?" she grimaced, her voice straining to sound through her clenched teeth. "I didn't before, but I think I might now. Did you see my feet?"

"Yeah, they're pretty broken," Saeana admitted, running her fingers over Shadowmere's scalp, trying to bring her a little relief.

"Saeana, one of my toes has no skin on it. I have a naked toe! It's indecent and incap-incaflat-acitating." Even though her friend was trying to be supportive, Shadowmere could tell Saeana was a little amused by her language.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth climbing up her flushed cerulean cheek. Shadowmere scoffed, recoiling again as Martin's fingers found another torn seam on the moth-eaten quilt of her legs.

"Not enough," she all but snarled. "I can still feel…feelings. In my feet. I feel the feelings in my feet…and they feel…fragmented!" Visibly trying to suppress the amused smile crawling across her azure face, Saeana changed the subject.

"Alliteration aside, how much booze have you had?"

"One bottle of wine," Shadowmere cringed, the very thought shaming to her. "Now the feet feelings I feel have colors," she pointed out. "The wine failed miserably. That Tamika's a goddamn harpie and a crappy vintner…or is it 'wint-ner?' You and your goddamn spells have me all confused. Either way she sucks at wine making." Though she seemed to have made a strong effort, Saeana couldn't completely stifle an unsympathetic laugh.

"No, you got drunk in pretty short order," she contradicted, making Sigrid giggle; a sound unnatural in her alto timbre. Shaking her head, Shadowmere rolled her eyes back to look at Saeana.

"This isn't all drunk," she insisted, unable to ignore the slurring of her own words. "Some of it is pain so harsh it's making my brain fart." Saeana didn't even try to hold back her laughter. "It's not nice to laugh at the drunk and incaflat- incapactated." Shadowmere found it distasteful at that moment for her friend to find enjoyment when she was so clearly not enjoying herself. Her face sobering despite herself, Saeana managed to slow her chortling and lower her smile.

"So, how would it compare to the stuff we were talking about on our way here?" she asked, her voice now calm and collected. "You know, the worst pains we've ever felt." Even in her stupor, Shadowmere wasn't sure that having her think about past pain while experiencing current pain was the wisest course, but she played along.

"This is like the worst one," she said, referring to her transformation. "But it's all in one spot and I can scream, so I guess it's not the worst-" Her description was interrupted by Martin's violent healing, making her pound her free hand against the ground once again as she clenched her teeth. "But I had the luxury of passing out partway through that one! I'm totally aware of this!" The discomfort passing, Shadowmere blew her tongue, the sound like the wings an enormous insect flapping. "That's why Tamika's a lousy wine-maker. She got me drunk but not drunk enough." Though she sounded as though she was again trying to smother it, Saeana once again laughed softly.

"That's your own fault," she pointed out. "If you didn't drink so much, your alcohol tolerance would be lower and you'd get blackout drunk easier." Groaning, Shadowmere lifted her arm from where it covered her eyes and meant to cover Saeana's mouth, but the palm of her hand in the fading light of Saeana's spell caught her attention.

"What the hell happened to my hand?" she yelled, staring at her swollen appendage. Her hand was now crossed with lines of white thread sewn into her skin, holding the edges of the scamp's bite together. "Sigrid, what in the name of Sheogorath's nut sac did you do?"

"I told you," she said, trying not to laugh. "If I put stitches in, it would help the healing potion work better," she reminded her. "And you were awake for it. You got to take a drink every time it hurt. You don't recall that?" Her brain not able to focus on multiple things at once, particularly things she didn't even remember, Shadowmere continued on her latest tangent, ignoring her ostensible amnesia.

"I'm not an embroilery slamper!" she yelled, shaking her stitched hand angrily at Sigrid, who chortled as she suppressed more amusement.

"Agreed," Sigrid said, kneeling by her inventory chest. "But your hand's not bleeding anymore and once the potion's in you, I can take the stitches out."

"And there's no such thing as an 'embroilery slamper' dear," Saeana pointed out, still choking on laughter. Shadowmere failed to see the humor and, her attention distracted from the white thread in her skin, and pushed her fingers at Saeana's jaw, trying to cover her lips.

"Shut up," she muttered, having no tolerance for logic at the moment. "You talk so damn much, it's no wonder you're not married." Saeana laughed out loud, shaking her friend's hand off her mouth.

"Yeah, that must be-"

"Shush, shush, shush; no more talky-yap-yap. Just sit still and shushy." Shadowmere knew she was making up words, and that Saeana would likely just keep talking, but at the moment, she didn't care; she had said her piece. To her immense surprise, Saeana did stop talking. She simply sat still and continued running her fingers through Shadowmere's hair, as long and black as the moonless night, and holding her hand. The subtle touch of her friend's hand in her own and the soothing motion of her fingers in her hair was enough to help Shadowmere fight through the next few minutes until Martin's work was done.

"There." The priest's voice at long last was like a cup of perfectly brewed coffee in the grimacing light. "I'm sorry it was so uncomfortable for you Shadowmere," Martin said genuinely. Shadowmere could almost see the remorse on his face through her arm, that was still covering her eyes, while she nodded her acceptance. "The bones are all set and with the potion Sigrid has for you, and the healing spell I cast, you'll be walking in a few days." The priest's guilt was clearly in earnest and Shadowmere felt ashamed at having screamed so much earlier and wanting to do him bodily harm.

"Thanks," she mumbled. Now that her body was free of pain, the drunkenness was taking a stronger hold. "But that hurt too much for me to accept you as my messiah." To her surprise, Martin made a noise that sounded remarkably similar to a small laugh.

"Next time then," he said, squeezing her intact hand slightly. Shadowmere nodded, moving her arms clumsily to pat his hands.

"You're okay buddy, you know that?" she said, pulling her stitched hand back and curling it into her chest.

"I appreciate your confidence," he said, his pale skin unnaturally sallow in the light of Saeana's spell as he got to his feet, looking toward Sigrid. "How strong is that potion?"

"Not very," Sigrid said, pulling the bottle from her pocket. "It could completely heal a small break in a bone, or a one inch cut." Visibly pondering the nature of her wounds and the strength of the potion, Martin was quiet while he thought.

"It should be able to heal her, but she's going to need to stay off of her legs for a few days," Martin keeping his voice low. "There's more swelling than either I or the potion can control. I set the bones, the potion will heal them most of the way through, but a few days rest will make sure her body has had time to get the most out of both and to get the swelling down." Sigrid nodded, pulling the cork from the oval, pearl pink bottle with a small 'pop'.

"Here," the Nord woman said softly, putting a hand behind Shadowmere's head, tipping a bottle to her lips and helping her sip a smooth, cool liquid. "Like Brother Martin said, it's still going to be a few days before your feet are strong enough for you to walk."

"I can wait," Shadowmere muttered, dozing a little. "I need to sleep off the wine." Giving her head a pat, Saeana let out a sigh.

"Shad, Martin and I have to get back to the priory," Saeana said, letting go of her hand. "Are you able to stay here and catch up to us after you've had some time to recover?" Shocked and crestfallen that Saeana was leaving her behind for the first time in years Shadowmere nodded, able to do little else. Her stomach burbled and quivered as she faced the reality that she would be alone, injured and in a relatively strange place. _"Pull yourself together Shadowmere,"_ she chastised herself, urging her lungs to draw a deep breath to trick her mind into calming itself. _"It's not forever, it's just until your feet aren't being held together by skin alone."_

"Yeah, I guess I can do that," she said, able to think more clearly as her body relaxed. She didn't want to tell her friend that she didn't want her to leave; she'd sound like even more of a baby than she felt. "Be careful amongst the Imperials," she added, rolling her head to her side and watching Saeana get to her feet.

"Will do," Saeana agreed, though something in her voice made Shadowmere think she was just as reluctant to part ways as she was. "Be nice to the people here." Despite her negative feelings, Shadowmere couldn't help but chortle at the irony that it was **Saeana** who was telling **her** to be nice to people. But even the bit of cynical humor wouldn't allow Shadowmere to shake the feeling of abandonment that coursed through her leaden limbs as she watched Saeana and Martin dust off their knees and turn to exit the tent. Catching one glimpse of Saeana's shadow in the moonlight waving a reluctant farewell, Shadowmere lifted her limp hand in return before her arm crumpled over her face again, hiding her exhausted tears.


	14. Chapter 14

A Simple Request

She was almost there; the light was surrounded by a gentle haze, and the voices calling her were softer and more enticing, rather than demanding that she follow. The sound made by the voices was something like music, but more sublime, like a hymn intoned by the stars.

"_That doesn't make any sense,"_ Shadowmere chided herself as she ran. _"Stars can't sing."_ Barring the implausibility of the comparison, she could think of no better way to describe the sound.

"_Hey,"_ a voice said, the first time she had been able to discern any coherent speech from her dream. _"Hey,"_ it called again, more insistent and less lyrical than it had been, making Shadowmere think that something was amiss, her heart beating harder out of sheer instinct.

"Hey!" Shadowmere woke to someone shaking her pointed elbow, her arm still covered her eyes from that night when Saeana had left. _"Who knows how long ago that was,"_ she thought, allowing herself to relax, even as she forced her achy muscles into a sitting position. "Wake up, you've been asleep for about two days!" Letting her arm drop gradually, Shadowmere found herself blinded by the brilliant daylight streaming in behind one of the city guards. _"I guess it's good someone was keeping track," _she decided with a resolute yawn. _"I was too busy going crazy and listening to star-songs."_

"That would explain why I have to pee so bad," she muttered, running her hands over her face, trying to regain the feeling from her early morning facial numbness, not to mention hide her eyes from the light. "Where's Sigrid?"

"Making the rounds," the guard said, his voice sounding vaguely familiar as Shadowmere's brain began to catch up to her senses. "Not easy when she's got no means of helping those injured."

"Yeah, that'll slow her down," she said, her eyes finally adjusting to the light just enough to let her hand drop and see the details of the guard in front of her. The daylight illuminated the surface of his skin just enough to allow her to see the tanned color, and enough strands of hair to show the tawny hue. "Dickhead?" she murmured in shock, coherent enough to recognize the guard as the one she and Saeana had first encountered in Oblivion, but not awake enough to stop the unflattering pseudonym from scrambling past her lips. The combination of being hung over and naturally flippant with her language was definitely working against her.

"Excuse me?" the guard asked, either genuinely having not heard what she said or a consummate actor. Shaking her head, Shadowmere tried to recall whether the man had given her a name inside the gate, or not.

"What's your name again?" she muttered, ignoring the muted pounding in her head. Giving a subtle bow, the guard looked at her with his brilliant blue eyes.

"Ilend, Ilend Vonius," he said, standing up straight, though not losing eye contact. "Are you Saeana or Shadowmere?"

"Shadowmere," she said, wincing at the slight stream of sunlight coming in behind the guard. "Where's your latrine?" Ilend gave a humorless chortle, held the tent flap open and motioned outside with his head.

"Anywhere away from the camp," he said simply. " 'Away from camp' being the operative phrase in that sentence." Shadowmere cringed at the thought of having to use the bushes; she had hoped to have given that up. "And when you're done, make your way up to the castle," he added quickly. "Captain Matius wants to talk to you." Shadowmere stuck her thumb up to signal that she had heard him and pushed herself to her feet which, to her unrivaled surprise, had only a dull ache. _"I guess I should be grateful for that,"_ she considered, giving her toes a triumphant wiggle. Since they had felt as though they were filled with broken glass and snake venom two nights prior, a slight twinge was a small price to pay.

"How's Menien?" she asked, following him outside and trying to hide her face from the sun while she started unlacing the top of her armor from the bottom, finding it almost impossible to do both at once.

"A little thirsty and hungry, a dislocated hip and shaken as hell," Ilend said, motioning toward the tent where Menien presumably rested. "Other than that, not so bad."

"Well, tell him to get his ass out of bed and back to work," she suggested, the tingling in her bladder made the choice between the two necessities clear and she lowered her hand from her face, the dazzling sunlight making her squint until her eyes were no more than slits.

"He won't be doing that for awhile," Ilend sighed shaking his head and looking up, seemingly unaffected by the light.

"Why?" Shadowmere was hardly listening, she was almost all the way through her unlacing and the few grommets might as well have been needle eyes and the sinew the width of her fingers.

"Dislocated hip, remember?" Though he was still addressing her, the guard was now staring back toward the encampment with a peculiar blush in his cheeks. _"Prude."_ She was amused by the fact that he was so uncomfortable with her unlacing her armor. _"It's not like I'm going to drop trou in front of him."_

"Yeah, but you pop it back in and down a potion and you're good as new." Desperate to get her hand back up, she worked through the lacing quickly, ignoring the man's unease.

"We only had one healing potion left." Shadowmere looked up as the man chanced a look back at her. "Your friend was willing to go and get you one, but Menien insisted on you taking the one here so your friend and Brother Martin could get going sooner rather than later." Despite the urgency in her bladder, and the swelling and throbbing in her feet, Shadowmere's guilt became the dominant sensation.

"So, he gave up the potion for me?" she murmured, adjusting her hold on the waist of her pants, glancing in the direction of Menien's tent. In the medical texts she'd often perused, she had read that a dislocated hip could be a crippling injury; Menien could have permanently disabled himself on her account. _"Not to mention dislocated joints hurt like a bitch."_ She'd had enough to know.

"You should talk to him about it," Ilend said, looking away again, his blushing reaching to the back of his neck. "He said he wanted to talk to you and he'd probably be relieved to see that you're alright."

"Or scared," she scoffed. "I can be pretty scary when I get backed into a corner like we were in Oblivion."

"Scary or not, you saved him from a fate worse than death," he spoke to the sky. "Believe me when I say that Menien respects those who put the needs of others before their own." Though she knew it would come across as being in poor taste, she couldn't help but chortle at his comment; if she had learned nothing else in her life, putting other's needs first had been hammered into her.

"Alright," she said, swallowing her amusement as quickly as she could, though it wasn't soon enough to spare her the guard's disapproval. "I'll pee first, then go see him, then go have a powwow with the captain." Ilend turned on his heel and started away.

"Have a good time," he said, the wry hue in his voice nearly washing out his words entirely. "And don't forget to go talk to the captain."

"I know, I just said I was going," she snipped, angry that she was another second closer to pissing her pants.

"Just making sure," he called back. "Now it's not on me if you don't show up." She gave a quick middle finger to the man's back and wrapped the sinew lacing around her wrist as she darted down a nearby incline into the underbrush. Though it was nearly impossible to avoid in her lifestyle in general, Shadowmere disliked having to squat in the bushes; it was too bestial. _"I might as well have hooves and a tail again."_ But she was hardly the only one in the camp with the need to take such measures, and she tried to dismiss the thought.

Her business quickly remedied, she pulled up her pants and hurried back toward the encampment which seemed surprisingly busy considering that, when Shadowmere had last seen it, all the inhabitants were more like zombies stumbling through a long abandoned ruin than living beings in an active town. Now, people walked with their heads up and their faces, while still etched with grief, were no longer streaked with soot and clean only where the tears swept the grunge away. They moved with purpose in the light of the new day, rather than aimlessly wandering in the darkness of yesterday.

"Ilend, you haven't found Vangogh, have you?" The Redguard named Boldon spoke to the guard some distance from where Shadowmere trudged up the incline. "When we opened the gates to the stables and shooed out the horses, he wasn't with them." Ilend sighed in annoyed disappointment.

"The stupid horse followed me into the gate," he said, clearly upset at his horse's lack of restraint. "He didn't last long in Oblivion."

"Oh, that's too bad." While the death of another life in Kvatch struck hard with the older man, Ilend seemed to shake off the loss like a dog shook off fleas.

"Yeah, but I learned my lesson," he said with determination. "The next animal I get will have more sense than to run headlong into danger." Every organ, muscle and nerve in Shadowmere's body twisted with a rage she hadn't encountered since she was a twenty year old killer with a virulent hatred for anything that drew breath. _"I'm going to tie a cinderblock to that fucker's gonads and throw him down the nearest well,"_ she decided, moving with the intent to do exactly that. _"If nothing else I'm going to knock out a few of his teeth."_

"Hey Shadowmere Blackmane's up and about!" She was shaken from her fury by the voice of Jesan, the young city guard who had carried her down from the gate. At the sight of his broad smile, she couldn't keep a firm enough hold on her ire to maintain it in any kind of significant capacity. "You didn't tell me your last name, so I made one up for you!" Shadowmere apparently hadn't been the only one who had imbibed, though she was relieved to see that his seemed to be for recreational purposes rather than medicinal.

"It's a good one," she said, only half in jest; she had never had a surname and until then she hadn't thought that she needed one. "Shadowmere Blackmane" seemed to easily flow off the tip of her tongue and "Blackmane" stood soundly after her bold first name. _"It might be worth keeping around…"_ she decided. "Where's Menien?" She changed the subject, hoping to have at least a semi-worthwhile conversation with the drunken soldier.

"In that tent!" he said, motioning with a wine bottle and dropping harder than he intended to onto a log by the main fire. "Not in Oblivion, thanks to you!" Shadowmere shrugged and gave a cockeyed grin, not entirely sure how to take the man's praise.

"Damn straight," she said, opting for the cocky response. "**I** don't leave wounded soldiers behind," she added, casting a glare back at Ilend. Jesan, too inebriated to notice her tone, gave a raw, almost honking laugh, pointing at her.

"I know, I saw you make short work of that bottle we got for you when we first brought you in." Shadowmere had to laugh.

"I wasn't referring to **that** variety of wounded soldier," she clarified. "But I can't really argue the legitimacy of the statement." She could almost see her words flying over the top of Jesan's head.

"I gotta tell you," he started, his tone suggesting what followed would be at least moderately irrelevant to the topic. "I've seen some nasty wounds before but yours was the single most ungodly thing I've ever seen." A memory of her bruised, bloodied and broken appendages flashed into Shadowmere's mind, giving her toes a little extra tingle.

"Well I aim to please." Ambiguity seemed like the proper tone to take in her response, as she wasn't sure whether he had just given her a compliment or not. "I'm going to see Menien, but you enjoy your drink."

"Not an issue!" She grinned as Jesan lifting his bottle emphatically, the gesture nearly causing him to fall off of his log stool. His antics had been just enough to encourage her away from her homicidal ambitions, and it was almost calming to see the city guard cutting loose after having been through such an ordeal. At the moment though, she had another soldier to see, who almost certainly wasn't as relaxed. Lifting the tent flap, she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim glow in the tent, lit only by the dusty fragments of light that found their way between the threads in the cloth.

"Shadowmere you are, without question, the damndest fool I've ever met," a voice said, bringing Shadowmere's eyes to the ground, where Menien laid, visibly uncomfortable but managing to hold a small smile on his lips. "I've never met anyone with such disregard for their own personal safety," he stated from his prone position. He was mostly reclined, with only a couple pillows under his neck and shoulders and another under his right hip keeping him at all upright.

"Nice to see you again too," she said kneeling next to him and sitting back on her still sore heels, as though she were leaning on two china cups. Menien gave a dry laugh, though the act cost him and he winced as the small movement visibly sent waves of pain through his body.

"But I have never been more indebted or grateful to anyone else in my entire life," he added, reaching warily under one of the pillows. "You have all my gratitude and if I had anything more than this, I would give it to you as well." Without another word, he handed her a small pouch jingling with no more than five or six septims. It was a pitiful offering, and Shadowmere shook her head knowing that taking it would be even more so.

"You don't owe me anything Menien," she said, pushing his hand back, the pouch still in his fingers. "People are supposed to take care of each other." With a condescending smile, the injured guard shook his head, though he kept his movement slight.

"The world would be a better place if everyone shared that philosophy," he said sadly. "You'd be surprised at how many people don't."

"_I really doubt that."_ Shadowmere couldn't help but enjoy the irony in the fact that she used to be one of those people and Menien would never see that part of her. All he would ever know was the unscarred, kind woman kneeling next to him, refusing payment for a job well done. He would never see the scrawny, scared, angry girl with the battered face who would kill a man, and had, for a mere septim or two. _"The question is whether __**I**__ stop seeing her or not." _"Ilend said you wanted to see me," she said, pushing aside the awkward silence before it had a chance to form.

"I did. If you and your friend hadn't come when you had, the gate would be open and I would still be trapped; probably dead. You risked a great deal to drag my sorry hide out of that hell-hole and when I heard that you'd been injured, I knew the least I could do to repay you was make sure you got the potion."

"Thank you for that," she interrupted, not wanting to seem unappreciative. "I was in pretty sorry shape and I probably would still be if you had taken it." That wasn't true and Shadowmere knew it; Saeana would have run to the nearest Mage's Guildhall and bought all the potions she could find if Menien had been given the one spare.

"They said you had broken your feet." If Menien agreed or disagreed with what she said, he kept quiet on the matter.

"I did, along with my ankles, lower legs and all my toes." Whistling, the guard opened his eyes a little wider at her disclosure.

"That's lousy," he said, looking down at his hip with slightly less disgust than only seconds prior. "You must have been in some pain."

"That's an understatement," she muttered, readjusting how she sat so that her heels and ankles were no longer being sandwiched between her weight and the ground. "I'm surprised that you didn't hear me yelling."

"Were you the one who was screaming obscenities and slurring your speech?" he asked, giving a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, that was me," she admitted, slightly embarrassed to own up to her language. "So how are they treating your injuries?" she asked, moving on as quickly as she could. Menien wrinkled his nose and shrugged with one shoulder.

"Just one injury, the dislocated hip from when you pulled me out of the cage. They gave me something to bite on and pushed it back into place and some brandy and wine to help me sleep. Now, it's just waiting until I can either get a potion or until it heals on its own." As horrific as the prospect of one's own hip being shoved back into its socket was, Shadowmere knew that Menien was extremely lucky. _"If they can't get it back in, it usually heals wrong and a person is permanently crippled,"_ she remembered.

"How long will that take without the potion?" she asked, absently rubbing her feet. Menien sighed heavily, as though he had to tell her that her dog died.

"At the shortest time, a month and a half, but that doesn't include the fact that I can't really move, so I'm going to lose strength. All in all, I'll probably be out of the game for three months." In any other time, that sentence would be an inconvenience, but it went much deeper than that.

"That means you can't do much in the way of rebuilding, can you?" she asked quietly. There was a great deal of healing that could be done in sweeping away the debris. _"And he's not going to be a part of it."_

"Yeah," Menien grumbled, his displeasure more than obvious. "I couldn't protect my unit in Oblivion, I couldn't close the gate and I can't rebuild now. I've never felt more useless in my life." Shadowmere shook her head in disbelief; she understood his displeasure, but the man was obviously not seeing things with the proper perspective.

"Menien, if you hadn't been there, Saeana would never have known how to close the gate. Hell she would have gotten stuck at the sigil keep without the key," she said, giving his shoulder an awkward squeeze. _"So my motivational speaking leaves a little to be desired,"_ she realized. Menien saw through her attempt.

"If I had been able to close the gate, the whole town would have been able to rest easier a few days earlier. You and your friend wouldn't have had to get involved and maybe not as many people would have died." Despite her lack of skill at boosting another's confidence, she couldn't let Menien continue to think he had failed.

"You had the guts to walk into an unknown world, and you had the strength to hold on until we got there to finish what you started," she said simply. "There's no shame in anything you did; as a matter of fact, you must have balls the size of watermelons." Menien lifted his eyes, a glimmer of amusement, if not actual relief, twinkling there.

"That would explain why you had to pull so hard to get me out of that cage," he scoffed. Shadowmere felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "I appreciate the chat," he said, with genuine gratitude. "But you should be on your way, especially if Captain Matius is waiting to talk to you. Shadowmere raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"How did you know that?" she inquired, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes on reflex. Menien chortled, her expression amusing to him.

"He and I spoke earlier, he said he was going to speak to you," he answered, trying to push the pillow further under his hip. "Hey, before you go, can you help an old man out?" While she didn't consider herself the best choice for helping with anything first-aid related, Shadowmere didn't feel as though she could walk away from the man now.

"Sure, where is he?" she asked, smiling at Menien, who laughed as well as he dared, considering each movement gave him pain.

"I knew I liked you," he grinned, holding the pillow in place. "This thing keeps slipping out from under me. Can you roll me over enough that I can stuff it back in?"

"I'll do the best I can," she said, getting onto her knees and shuffling over to him. "I don't usually do things like this, so bear with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Where should I…?" she trailed off, warily holding up her hands.

"Grab my shoulder and my ass and pull gently until I'm leaning against you." Shadowmere gingerly put her hands on Menien's battered, but well muscled, torso and helped him roll toward her as he frantically tried to pack the pillow under his side.

"Is that better?" she asked, easing him back. After a moment of settling and contemplating, Menien shook his head.

"It's just too soft, I'm not getting any support."

"Do you want me to try fluffing it up?" she asked, not sure how she was doing in a care-giving capacity, but less than confident in her skill.

"No, let's just try it again." Shadowmere again rolled the man toward her as he struggled to reposition the pillow. "Alright, let me down," he said after a few moments of struggle. Slightly out of breath, she lowered him onto his back, only to have him sigh in frustration.

"Still too soft?" she said, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah." Menien looked so discouraged that Shadowmere resolved to fix the situation regardless of her skill.

"Alright," she said, slapping her thighs for effect. "Let's try this again, but I'll try this time." Menien immediately resisted, shaking his head vigorously.

"No good," he refused. "I need you to hold me up." Shadowmere smiled, glad she had already considered this part of the problem.

"Put your arm around my back while I work back here." Still Menien hesitated.

"I need your help to stay up."

"Well I need both hands to get it in right." She crossed her arms and waited while he decided whether her plan was worth the effort.

"Alright," he finally conceded. "But try to be quick." As Menien's arm wrapped around the middle of her back, she leaned over his hips and pulled the pillow out from under him. "Ow, not so rough!"

"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm just trying to be quick."

"I know, keep going." She fluffed the pillow and folded it in half, knowing the man likely couldn't maintain the position for very long on his own.

"_He's also probably staring at my butt,"_ she realized. Many was the time she caught men glancing that direction, particularly when she was wearing her leather armor. _"Hell even I have to admire my ass then."_ She didn't like to think she was vain, but she did have a realistic idea of how good she looked in black leather.

"I can't hold on much longer."

"I'm almost done." She quickly worked the pillow under the man's hip, resisting the urge to pound it in with her fist.

"I can't hold on anymore!" With a grunt, Menien tumbled backwards onto the pillow before Shadowmere could get her hand clear, forcing her to roll over the top of him to keep her wrist from snapping.

"Ow, hey you're on my hand!" As she made a move to pull her hand free, Menien groaned loudly.

"Don't pull it like that!" Her instinct had kicked in before she remembered that her hand was imprisoned under someone who was seriously injured.

"Sorry," she apologized again, even though her wrist was starting to hurt from the unnatural position in which she held it. "Can you sit up at all?"

"Not with you on top of me!" Menien's face was twisted with anxiety, as Shadowmere's full weight was being suspended over him only by her free hand that she had managed to plant on the bedroll.

"Well I can't move because you're on my hand!" she nearly shrieked in frustration, knowing her strength would eventually give out and cause her to come crashing down on Menien's injured hip.

"Ahem." The tangled pair looked up to see a man standing in the doorway with his hands covering his eyes. "Do you need help?" She couldn't turn her head quite far enough to get a good visual confirmation, but Shadowmere did recognize the voice.

"Sheogorath's nut sac," she muttered, shaking her head and pretending she was elsewhere.

"Ilend, what are you covering your eyes for?" Menien yipped, exasperated that help had arrived without knowing the problem.

"We…couldn't tell what you were doing in here." Looking at one another for a brief instant, Shadowmere and Menien replayed the last few minutes of their dialogue.

"_It's just too soft, I'm not getting any support." _

"_Do you want me to try fluffing it up?"_

"_I need your help to stay up."_

"_Well I need both hands to get it in right."_

"_Don't pull it like that!" _

"_Well I can't move because you're on my hand!"_

"I was trying to fix his pillow, you perverts!" Shadowmere shouted to the crowd outside, though she realized that the people outside were justified in being unsure what was going on in the tent.

"Yeah!" Jesan shouted. "You 'fix his pillow' Shadowmere Blackmane!" An oddly comforting juvenile giggle from the group passed like a wave around the tent.

"Almighty Azura," she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Ilend, care to help us out here?" Cautiously, he lowered his hand and promptly put his hand over his mouth to cover an amused grin.

"Ilend," Menien forced out, clearly in pain. "You don't wipe that smirk off your face, and I'll make it known what I caught you doing in your sleep."

"_I'm certain I don't want to know,"_ Shadowmere thought, shaking her head. It took a moment for Ilend to sober up, but he got to his knees in fairly short order.

"Where do you need me?" he asked, surveying the scene, as well as other things, in Shadowmere's opinion.

"Stop staring at my ass," she warned, unable to see exactly where Ilend was looking, but if his shadow was any indication of the direction of his gaze, she wanted it to be clear that she had no desire to be eye-humped.

"I actually need you where Shadowmere is," Menien confessed, his cheeks flushing.

"_Perfect,"_ Shadowmere thought as Ilend hesitantly crawled up behind her, his body pressing against her back. Though she was hardly in a position she wanted to be in again, she couldn't help but notice that Ilend smelled surprisingly good. _"What a weird thought…"_

"Alright, grab my ass and my side and lift." Menien had clearly dropped any pretense of getting out of the situation ungroped, though Shadowmere still clung to the hope. Like a true professional, Ilend lifted his friend off of Shadowmere's hand, and eased him back down on the pillow.

"You're free," he said, backing away from Shadowmere and getting to his feet. Shadowmere was able to sit up and looked at Menien.

"Is the pillow at least right now?" she asked, eager to leave the situation behind her. "Because if it's not, then Ilend's going to have to help you."

"Perfect, thanks my friend," Menien assured her, though she noticed that Ilend looked relieved that he wouldn't have to grab the older gentleman's buttocks again. Menien again grabbed the pouch of coins and held it out to her again. "Sure I can't persuade you to take these off my hands?"

"No way," she said, motioning toward the tent flap. "They apparently think I'm a whore already, I'd rather not reinforce that opinion." Menien, and to her surprise Ilend, laughed heartily, though Menien's laughter was punctuated by wincing.

"Get out of here, you're going to kill me one way or another," he hooted, putting a hand to his hip.

"Alright, take care of yourself."

"You too kid." Making a move to stand, Shadowmere found Ilend's hand before her, offering to help her to her feet. To hide her disbelief, she put her hand into his and allowed him to pull her up.

"Thanks," she muttered, sparing an oddly shy glance at him. _"If we hadn't just been in such an embarrassing situation together, I wouldn't have trouble making eye contact,"_ she told herself. He nodded and held the tent flap open for her. As she walked out, she was greeted by the sound of applause and whistles from all those present in the makeshift courtyard. It was then that she realized she was covered with sweat, her hair hadn't seen a comb yet that day, her pants were still mostly unlaced and she was a little unsteady on her feet.

"Shadowmere, you're an animal!" Jesan hooted. "Out of one sickbed, into another!" She rolled her eyes and walked away, combing her hair with one hand and sticking up her middle finger to the rest of the group with the other.

"Hey," Sigrid said from the cooking fire next to her tent. "Good to see you up and, ahem, **around**." She spoke with a smile that resembled a leftover noodle on a white plate. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she said, leaning against the table and lifting her foot to rub it between her hands. "You alright?" The Nord shrugged, stirring a pot on the fire.

"No worse than anyone else around here." Since a mere glance around the encampment at all the amused people told Shadowmere that Sigrid, with her smile of obligation, was perhaps less well than she claimed.

"Do you know where Captain Matius is?" she opted to take the woman at her word, rather than delve into her pain.

"Up in the castle," the blond said, nodding up the steep, winding path. "The others said that you have to go through the chapel in order to get to it; there's too much rubble in the streets to get past." Shadowmere rolled her eyes at the idea. Being in chapels made her uncomfortable; they were places that represented nothing but lies built upon delusions and mortared with betrayal.

"Good to know," she said, heading toward the steep path up to the city gates. She didn't see a real need to tell Sigrid about her personal demons.

"You're not going to put on your boots?" Sigrid called after her, cocking her head and tapping the cooking pot with a spoon.

"No, they take too long to lace," she replied, casting a glance back to the tent where she had slept for so many hours. In truth, she simply didn't want to wear the boots. The last time she had worn them, it had been excruciating to take them off and there was almost certainly a layer of dried blood in the left one.

"If you hurt your feet I'm going to be really upset," Sigrid warned, her brow visibly furrowed with displeasure, even from where Shadowmere stood. She waved to let the alchemist know she had been heard, but didn't say anything.

"Shadowmere!" She turned at the sound of her name to see a Redguard woman following her with a pair of shoes. "Here," she said, thrusting them toward her. "There's lots of rubble up there, take care of your feet." Shadowmere accepted the shoes, curious as to how the woman knew so much about the conditions inside the town gate, as well as her name.

"Thank you," she murmured, sitting on the hill's incline and pulling the pigskin over her toes. "I don't think we've been introduced," she said, tying the rawhide laces. The woman smiled.

"I don't suppose we have," she admitted. "But between what you did for Menien and your crushed feet, you've become somewhat legendary around here. My name is Oleta. I was trapped in the chapel until your friend closed the gate."

"_That's how she knows that I need shoes,"_ she realized. _"She was there." _"Yeah, that had to be something," Shadowmere said, feeling like a moron as the words tumbled carelessly from her lips. She didn't know what to say; the woman had been trapped within the eye of the storm, yet she was looking after her. Oleta seemed to understand her bewilderment.

"To be perfectly honest," she said, offering a new conversation. "Aside from the daedra and the screaming it wasn't that different from any other day." Shadowmere had to laugh; the phrase "aside from the daedra" wasn't something she typically heard in casual conversation.

"Are you a conjurer or a nanny?" she asked, voicing the first two vocations that leapt to mind at the words. Oleta smiled, and shook her head.

"Neither, I'm afraid. I'm the healer for the chapel."

"So, the town does have a healer?" Shadowmere was somewhere between put out and legitimately confused at the older woman's calling.

"Were you told otherwise?" Oleta asked, her face creasing with what seemed to be her own puzzlement.

"No, but I was pretty badly hurt and it seemed my only options were Sigrid, Martin and a bottle of Tamika's finest." Oleta nodded slowly as an epiphany lifted a weight from her features.

"They probably knew I wouldn't have been much help," she confessed. "I used up most of my power within a couple hours, and my sign is the Atronach." Shadowmere was reminded of her experience in the daedric tower that culminated in having to reassure Saeana that it was normal to have fingers and hair.

"My friend is an Atronach too," she said, glad to have found a point of mutual interest. "Fortunately we had some scrolls and she was able to absorb some of them."

"Are you a mage?" Oleta looked equally glad to have found common ground and Shadowmere almost sorry to have to quash it.

"Oh no, just literate enough to read a scroll." Oleta's face immediately waved through several expressions, from shock, to anger, to relief, to condescension.

"I…" she started, looking skyward, as though she might find the she sought words there. "Wouldn't recommend doing that again. People have died doing that, both the caster and the target." For a flash of an instant, Shadowmere felt as though she was speaking to Ilura, having to explain a foolish adolescent peccadillo.

"We didn't use any dangerous ones," she stated, hoping the woman didn't really believe that someone who had been partially responsible for saving lives of so many would be that careless with her own. Oleta shook her head, crossing her arms, giving Shadowmere the impression that she thought she was, in fact, that careless.

"It doesn't have to **be** dangerous to be **made** dangerous," she explained. "Some of those spells are temperamental at best and the only difference between a Slow spell and a Drain Life spell is the pronunciation of a single letter." Remembering the fish-faces Saeana had made to explain how to pronounce V's gave Shadowmere an understanding of how close they could have come to disaster. Her face must have shown her through process, as Oleta's demeanor relaxed. "Still, it seems as though you've both survived, so no harm done." Eager to leave the topic, Shadowmere's attention came back to her feet, which had some residual throbbing.

"So, have you regained any of your power?"

"No." The healer looked deeply mournful at the fact. Shadowmere could understand why; it was the same as Menien not being able to do his job and herself not being able to follow Saeana.

"That's too bad." She wasn't sure what else to say, but Oleta didn't seem overly bothered.

"It is, but it will come back after enough time."

"How?" Oleta shrugged.

"I'll find a potion or the basin in the chapel will be re-consecrated. It's always come back before, there's no reason to think it won't come back again." It took conscious effort for Shadowmere to not roll her eyes at the thought of the chapel basin being a legitimate healing source. _"Sprinkling magic water on yourself, that any number of other people have been dipping their diseased limbs into all day long, is just a really good way to get Ticklebritch or Rockjoint."_ She had said that to Saeana once, who dismissed her belief with an amused giggle.

"Well, if I find a potion I'll be sure to hand it over," she said, proud of herself once again for not over-sharing with people she barely knew.

"Thank you kindly. And be mindful that you don't do any jumping or running," the healer advised, nodding down to her subtly swollen feet. "You probably have a couple hairline fractures left."

"Thanks," she said, looking down at her feet, noting that the skin she could see around the shoes opening did seem a little discolored in addition to the swelling. Edging past the demented priest, who still reeked and muttered on the edge of hearing, she continued her trek up the hill. _"What am I walking into?"_ she wondered, rounding the first curve, her calves already starting to burn. _"I guess it can't be worse than walking into Oblivion."_ She remembered days earlier, though it seemed like another lifetime, taking Saeana's hand, both feigning confidence, and the two of them walking into the unknown. Shadowmere was blindsided by feelings of loneliness as she ascended the hill alone, the wind getting stronger the higher she climbed and tossing her already unkempt hair into a funnel cloud of black strands.

"Screw it," she spat, grabbing her hair in her fist and wrapped it around her hand, tempted to go back for her sword so she could cut it off entirely. Looking down, she could see that the walk down would be considerable. _"Though I could save some time by jumping down."_ She pondered the idea, looking over the edge of the path at a near vertical slope to the next path, which also had an edge with an identical incline. The slants were also freckled with rocks of all shapes and sizes, jutting several distances away from the dirt face, meaning she had a solid chance of hitting at least one of them. _"And if I jumped clear of the wall, I'd probably break my feet again and get on everyone's shit lists."_ Ultimately, she realized it was in her best interests to not go back and cut her hair and so completed what little was left of the ascent. "You dodged a bolt, hair," she said, staring at the knotted mess. _"Of course, there aren't any crossbows in Cyrodiil, so I'm fairly unimpressed."_ During her time in Morrowind with one of her previous masters Shadowmere had seen a few of the weapons and, even as a horse, had to marvel at their quality and precision. When her master had tried to bring one back to Cyrodiil, he had been forced to surrender it at the border on the grounds that the Emperor had deemed crossbows, "too evil." Her master had gone back and sold the crossbow and bought a daedric dagger and returned. He then killed the border guards to prove the point that any weapon could be evil. Shadowmere later watched him die for his crime and both she and the dagger had become property of the crown.

"_Good times,"_ she thought, her tone spiteful even by her standards. Approaching the gate, she dropped her fistful of hair and walked through the hole in the heavy wood, careful to not step on anything that might penetrate the soles of her borrowed shoes. Standing up straight, she took her first look at what remained of the town, her breath leaving her lungs.

It was as bad as all the townsfolk had claimed, but at the very least most of the fires were extinguished. The smoke still hung like mist in the air and the ash formed an almost shimmering carpet on the broken ground. It was beautiful in the way a cemetery could be beautiful; haunting, quiet and a constant reminder that the cost of its existence was lives. The burnt out buildings, those that remained standing, looked like skulls devoid of flesh and features, only bare structure and holes giving away what it had once been. All around were the bodies of various daedra, clannfears and scamps mostly, but the dremoras had been soundly represented as well. Unable to quell her desire to explore the wasteland, to try and understand all that had happened, she wandered into one of the upright buildings.

"_Was this someone's house?"_ she wondered, the idea making her shudder. _"Whatever it was, it's not anymore."_ There wasn't much to see; ash, burnt wood, an abandoned cask and trunk and a ladder that presumably led to what was once the attic. To her surprise, a severed, mutilated torso had been discarded a few feet from where she stood.

"_Is it bad that I'm not horrified at that?"_ It was logical that such a thing be there; the city had been destroyed in an instant by creatures that believed killing humans was akin to slapping a mosquito. It would have been questionable if there were no bodies to be found. _"Still, this guy was alive once,"_ she reminded herself, noting that the gender of the torso was the only thing that remained somewhat discernable. _"Why doesn't this upset me?"_ She caught sight of a severed head in the adjacent building, the sight again bringing her no more emotion than if it had been a skein of yarn or an ear of corn. She claimed to have an interest in doing the right thing; she claimed that she cared about people. _"Is that just…repeating Hannibal's order? Am I like one of those golems the Dwemer used to make?"_ The questions made her uneasy, and the sight of the body parts wasn't exactly helping her forget them. Making her way out of the house, she looked up to see a spire reaching toward a blue sky that was still hidden behind orange and black clouds. Some distance ahead of her stood the chapel, remarkably untouched for all that had happened around it with the exception of one of the steeples lying on the ground. For the moment, she forgot her disdain of that which the building stood for and was merely thankful that it had stayed intact and had been able to shelter so many of the townspeople who hadn't been fortunate enough to escape the onslaught.

"The chapel-going crowd is going to eat this up for years to come," she muttered, the words returning her general disdain of the Nine and religion in general. Despite her gratuity, she still had no desire to enter the building, the mere thought making her want to throw up on the ash-covered steps. Scoping out the fantastically high wall of rubble, bulked up by the crumbled steeple, she decided to try scaling it. Warily taking a hold of the debris, she climbed just a small distance before the footholds collapsed and made her slide down the pile. Desperately trying to regain her balance, she flailed as though she was the featured dancer in Sheogorath's court, her arms going one way, her hips spastically thrusting in every direction. "Damn, crap, damnit!" she cursed as she failed to defy gravity and fell backwards off the rubble, landing hard on her ass.

"Ow!" she yelled, before she could stop herself. "Stupid pile," she grumbled as she got to her feet and rubbed her tailbone. The throbbing spiked in her left foot when she made a move to re-mount the pile. "Stupid feet," she continued to grouch, forced to sit down on a large chunk of what was likely the city wall and remove her shoe. Her foot was more swollen than when she had started up the winding path perhaps an hour earlier and subtle patterns of deep blue and purple were barely visible. "I'm never going to be able to climb this thing with a broken foot," she sighed, looking back toward the chapel. She balked a little at the realization that she was just cutting off her nose to spite her face. _"It's not like I have to take vows just to walk through the chapel,"_ she told herself as her stomach twisted a little nonetheless. With a discernable limp, she made her way to the building's cracked, and dinged, but ultimately unharmed, steps. _"I feel like I'm walking into a whorehouse."_ The door creaked ominously as she put her shoulder into it, the heavy wood cracked and warped from the heat of the nearby fires. Cracking open the door just far enough that she could slide into the gap, she was enveloped by the stark blackness of the chapel. If the area outside the building had been a graveyard, the chapel was a mausoleum.

The once brilliant stained glass simulacrums of the Nine were now clouded over from the outside by the grime from the smoke, effectively blocking out any light. The little light there was came from the smoldering fires set around the church, surrounded by bedrolls and a hodgepodge of small satchels. Walking with morbid curiosity around the building, she noticed that the altar basins had all been drained of water. _"They probably ran out of drinking water and the holy water was the only thing left,"_ she realized, smiling slightly. _"At least they were smart enough to put their survival before their religion."_

"_Please don't let them take me."_ The voice in her head caught her off guard and made her jump in the manner the severed limbs should have. _"No! Please, don't take me back!"_

"Shut up," she muttered, knowing the remaining lines of this melancholy play; it played out in her mind every time she was in a place where the Nine were rumored to reside.

"_You coward!"_ The little girl's voice was filled with fear and despair and hatred far too potent for a body so small. _"You're a liar and a coward!"_

"I said to shut up," she warned the performer, shaking her head as though she could shake the words out of her ears.

"_You said I was safe here! Your gods are DEAD!"_

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Shadowmere was aware of the fact that she was screaming and little else, other than her crippling emotional turmoil. Her heart pounded like a rain of blows from a smith's hammer upon an anvil and her breathing was like the bellows fanning the flames. Spying the door opposite of the one she had come in, she charged headlong for it, forgetting her ill conditioned foot and threw her weight into the door, slipping out and hurrying away from the accursed building. Out of breath and badly shaken, she took refuge on a block from a building that was no longer there, leaning against her knees and putting her face in her hands. "Why can't you just go away?" she muttered, weaving her fingers together and resting her forehead against the knot. "I can't change what happened back then, just go away." Her heart pounding out of control, she wrung her hands tighter in an effort to stop their shaking.

"Flyyyyin'," she murmured, trying to fill her head with anything that might remove the memories, if only until the next time she was in a chapel. Reynald Jemane's stupid song was as good as anything else. "Flyyyyin' in the sky! Cliff racer flies so high! Flyyyyin'!" The thoughts no longer able to paralyze her, she stood up, stretching her arms out straight and letting out a breath. "I feel like a jackass!" she proclaimed, in a louder voice than the one in which she had rendered the song. The nonsense she spoke was enough to distract her and allow her to focus on that into which she had rushed so carelessly.

This side of the chapel was much larger than the side closer to the town entrance and the damage seemed to go on forever. Fires burned in buildings like enemy flags marking their victory over the crumbling structures and the layer of ash on the ground covered the broken cobblestones like a funereal shroud. The bodies of a mixed bag of daedra were strewn about the area, some with arrows protruding from them, giving them the appearance of humongous, ugly pincushions. Upon closer inspection, Shadowmere could see that some of the arrows were definitively those that Saeana used.

"_She was taking these guys down while I had my feet fixed,"_ she remembered, an odd feeling of guilt nearly making her slap her own wrists. This was the battle Saeana had fought without her. Though it wasn't something that could have been helped, it was frustrating to her nonetheless. _"I should have been here."_ A pang in her left foot got her attention, and she shot it a glare that could shatter glass.

"If you weren't already broken again I would stomp on you myself, stupid foot," she snarled before she realized she was verbally abusing her foot. _"Yeah, stupid __**foot**__,"_ she realized with a roll of her eyes. From there, her walk was quiet, consciously keeping her mind empty as she hobbled toward the castle. She kept her fingers busy twirling and smoothing her hair, intent on making herself somewhat presentable when she entered the manor and spoke with the de facto leader of the pack. As she limped along, she noticed but didn't react to the bodies of every sort and species lying along the path. _"I should probably grab Saeana's arrows at some point,"_ she thought, noting one daedroth that must have been embedded with twenty of them.

She walked into the courtyard of the castle, strewn with dead things like a macabre garden, past the bloody carcasses and into the manor.

"No, no, no you oafs," was the first thing she heard upon entering. "Put the fires out before you start moving the bodies! This isn't the time or place for a mass pyre." The man bellowing orders in the middle of the room looked like the conductor in the orchestra of the damned. All around were the few remaining city guardsmen, most moving as though made of lead and all looking as though just a strong exhale could cause them to lose the contents of their stomachs.

"Captain Matius?" she asked, approaching the conductor.

"What?" he snapped, turning around and bringing Shadowmere back to the first night they had met. Immediately, his face softened at the sight of her. "Oh Shadowmere, good to see you, thank you for coming," he said, almost as though he was genuinely glad to see her.

"Yeah, Ilend mentioned you wanted to see me."

"Hey men, take a break!" he called, motioning for Shadowmere to follow him to a table and chairs in a corner of the manor that was slightly tidier and not on fire, conditions that appeared to be in short supply. "Before anything else, let me just thank you for saving Menien," he said as they each took a seat. "In addition to being a fine soldier, he's also an old friend and I don't know that I could stand losing any more friends to this gods-forsaken disaster."

"It was honestly no trouble," she said, the mere thought that she had to keep assuring people that saving someone's life hadn't put her out somewhat bewildering. The captain scoffed.

"It takes a lot to make Jesan Rilian flinch," he said. "He flinched all night after seeing the condition your feet were in. He said that you had initially broken them when you were trying to get Menien out of that cage. The death run back into our world made everything shatter. You're telling me that didn't require a little extra effort on your part?"

"Hauling his ass out of there was a pain in mine," she confirmed, without reservation. "But if I had left him in there, knowing I could have saved him, I would have slit my own throat." Matius shook his head with something between admiration and skepticism.

"Your parents must have been something girl," he chortled. Shadowmere said nothing; she had no need to give her life story to a man whose only prior interaction with her was screaming orders and sending her into a place that would likely be the death of her. Fortunately Matius didn't pry. "Now, onto the reason I wanted to speak to you," he said, evidently tired of wasting time. "I got back Menien, but I lost twenty-five other good men and women." Guilt and grief weighed down his features and gave Shadowmere a shiver.

"I'm sorry," she said, hoping her impromptu shake didn't offend the battle-hardened guard. He merely sighed and looked suddenly overwhelmed.

"Not to mention Menien is out of the game until he's able to move again and all the men I do have are just about at the breaking point." Shadowmere began to see where this was going, and felt her shoulders tense in discomfort. "I have no business asking you to do this, after what you've already done, but I need you to take Menien's place until he's able to get back on his feet." This was what Shadowmere had guessed was coming. "In exchange, I would make you an honorary member of the Kvatch city guard, if you'll agree to help." The reviving of Kvatch was going to be a monstrous task, though the prospect of hard work didn't faze her. Her experience had taught her that coaxing something beautiful to rise from the ashes, literally in this sense, brought with it a sense of catharsis. _"But this isn't something I need to recover from,"_ she thought. _"It would actually mean something to the rest of them." _

"I don't know," she started, not sure how to tactfully decline his proposal. "Saeana may need me-"

"So someone who **might** need you versus an entire town that **does** need you," he interjected, crossing his arms. He had a valid argument; Saeana was more than capable and could almost certainly handle any situation that crossed her path in Shadowmere's absence and cathartic or not, rebuilding Kvatch was going to take as many hands as it could get.

"Alright point taken," she admitted reluctantly. "But she's expecting me to meet her at Weynon Priory, so I at least need to do that. I'll give you my answer when I get back from there." The captain nodded with reticent understanding.

"That's fair enough," he acquiesced. Satisfied that her indentured servitude would at least be postponed, she put her hands on her legs and stood.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. Captain Matius shook his head and got to his feet, seemingly for no reason other than chivalry.

"Not at the moment," he said, walking toward his men, who hadn't really stopped working despite having been given a break. "Thank you for making the climb."

"No problem," she said over her shoulder, raising a hand to wave.

"Are you limping?"

"I'm not **not** limping." That was as close to complaining as Shadowmere allowed herself to venture. Looking at the faces of those working to separate the dead from the debris, she felt no desire to even mention the comparatively slight pain in her foot.

"I thought Brother Martin fixed you up?" Captain Matius insisted, making a move toward her.

"He did as best he could," she sighed, turning around to face him. She didn't really want to get into the number of reasons why she was still injured. "There was a lot for him to fix." Matius furrowed his brow and looked down at her unevenly distributed feet.

"In that case I'm going to send Ilend with you," he said firmly, looking her directly in the eye. Shadowmere scowled and crossed her arms.

"That's not necessary," she said, matching his resolve. "Don't waste your breath," was more what she wanted to say.

"Necessary or no," he countered, narrowing his eyes to meet hers, something Shadowmere had only rarely seen. "I'm not taking the chance of losing any potential help I might have. He's due for a break anyway." Shadowmere knew the man only meant well, which was why she couldn't come out and say how very much against having Ilend come with her she was. She wasn't exactly used to traveling alone anymore, but she was capable enough to walk to Chorrol on her own.

"Can you spare Ilend for a couple days?" The thought came to her quickly and she threw it past her lips almost before she had finished processing it. "I mean I don't know how long the trip is going to take me with my foot in this shape."

"I can spare him," Matius asserted. "Out of curiosity, what is it that you don't like about him?" Shadowmere was taken aback by the bluntness of the captain's question.

"What makes you think I don't like him?" she asked, trying to cover her surprise. Matius laughed, apparently amused by her being caught off-guard.

"Everything on your face turns down when his name comes up," he said. Betrayed by her own facial expressions, Shadowmere had no choice but to come clean.

"In all honesty, I think he's a dick." It was blunt and honest and made the captain choke with its starkness.

"Alright," he said, after taking a moment to regain his voice. "Why do you think he's a dick?" It was infuriating to Shadowmere that she couldn't think of a reason other than a gut feeling to cite for not liking him.

"He left his people behind in Oblivion," she finally decided. "He should have been the one to bring Menien back."

"The way he says it, you sent him back."

"**I** didn't send him back." Shadowmere didn't waver on this matter. "He said he was leaving and Saeana okayed it. He ran away from people who needed him. Not just people, his friends, the people he was supposed to stand and fight with."

"Not until he knew there would be someone there to help them," Matius responded quickly, but without judgment. "He was also the first to volunteer to go into the gate." Secretly, Shadowmere felt slightly guilty about saying bad things about Ilend, but she mostly hated that her first impression had been incorrect. She hated being wrong more than hangovers and nosebleeds. "Regardless, we need all the hands we can get and I'm sending Ilend with you to make sure that you both get back in as few pieces are possible," Matius said, pushing past their previous conversation. "He can be ready to go in an hour or so, is that enough time for you?"

"That'll be fine," she muttered with a grudging voice. _"Pick your battles Shad,"_ she told herself. _"It's not like I have to marry this guy."_

"Do you need assistance getting back down to the encampment?" She shook her head, but knew that his concern was justified.

"If I'm walking to Chorrol I can walk down the hill," she said, perhaps a bit more flippantly than she had intended. Matius shook off her tone with a simple shrug.

"Your call," he said, turning and putting two fingers in his mouth to whistle at the guardsmen, who were using their free time to pull books out of a burning pile. "Back to work men," he barked. "If you wouldn't mind, send Ilend up here when you get back down. I'll let him know what his orders are."

"Sure," she said, limping toward the door and making a move to leave.

"And Shadowmere?" It took everything she had to not audibly groan with exasperation.

"Yeah?" She managed to keep her tone civil. Captain Matius smiled, his eyes softening.

"Thank you again for everything you've done." She wasn't sure what to say; her stomach fluttered with remorse for having been short with the man, and she was overwhelmed by the gratefulness he showed.

"You're welcome." The words felt inadequate as they passed her lips. Rather than comment further, Captain Matius simply smiled and nodded toward her feet.

"Wear your boots," he advised. "They'll give your feet more support than those flimsy shoes."

"Will do." Shuffling out of the building, Shadowmere shook her head and spit to make herself feel better about having to travel with the man she knew best as "Dickhead." _"Why does that one man bug me so much?"_ It wasn't a question she thought she should have to answer. If she didn't like someone, why did she need a reason? In animals that sense of being able to discern a good person from a bad person was an incredibly useful trait, and one without any basis in normal logic. Of course in the world of humanity, disliking someone without a good reason, just on the feeling a person was bad was considered prejudice which, despite being widespread, was typically frowned upon. _"But this is different,"_ she decided, wandering through the large open area that led back to the chapel. _"He isn't bad, I just don't like him."_ As she approached the chapel doors, a cold weight dropped in her stomach and Shadowmere briefly considered another attempt at climbing the rubble. _"Don't be stupid,"_ she demanded. _"You already re-broke one foot; Sigrid will shit bricks if the other one goes."_ For a moment she just stared frozen at the portico, her fingers twitching.

"Walking into a building should not require a pep talk!" she snapped, needing to hear the words. She pulled the massive door open and went inside, intent on simply crossing the short distance to the opposite door and walking out, not allowing any time to linger and let her brain play games with her senses.

"Hey." The voice made her out and out scream and jump a mile, bringing the throbbing in her foot to a higher level of pain. "Hey, settle down it's just me." It was then that she spotted Ilend coming up the stairs from the chapel living quarters.

"Don't DO that!" she shrieked, grabbing her foot to keep her hands from automatically wrapping around his neck. "It's creepy enough in here without strangers sneaking up on me!" Ilend was visibly holding back his amusement at having so thoroughly frightened her, but bowed his head slightly.

"I'm sorry." His words sounded as though he actually meant them. "Believe it or not, I was trying to keep from scaring you."

"Hate to tell you this, but you failed miserably," she said, gingerly putting her foot back on the ground.

"So I see."

"Matius wants to see you," she said, pointing toward the castle's direction. "I was coming to the camp to tell you."

"Alright, thanks. And sorry again. Just remember to relax, there's no more monsters here."

"_Oh if only you knew, Dickhead,"_ she thought, leaving the building quickly before the monsters could come out of hiding.

Her mind was still reeling from Ilend's unintentional scare as she walked down the serpentine path, now greatly favoring her right leg.

"What the hell happened up there?" Sigrid rushed up to her, her bluebonnet eyes fixed on Shadowmere's left foot. "Did you have to kick in a door or something?"

"I got the living daylights scared out of me, jumped out of my skin and landed wrong," she said, deciding it was best to place the blame squarely on Ilend. "That Dickhead snuck up on me in the chapel!" Sigrid frowned and rolled up her sleeves as though she intended to render judgment on the offending Dickhead.

"Which Dickhead?" she asked, looking around.

"Ilend," she grumbled, leaning against the table near Sigrid's fire. The Nord woman immediately lost her confrontational demeanor.

"Wow," she said, lowering her fists. "He's not the one I would think of as a Dickhead. Merandil, he's probably the leader of the Kvatch chapter of Dickheads, but I doubt Ilend's even a member."

"He snuck up on me!" she yelped in her own defense. "He could have reached out and grabbed me!" Sigrid smirked, raising an eyebrow and putting her hand on her hip.

"And then there was an interlude of mad love-making in the house of the Nine?" Shadowmere physically lurched at the idea.

"Why the hell would you put that image into my head!" she asked, once she was certain that she wouldn't get sick if she opened her mouth. Her skeptical look still intact, Sigrid crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow higher.

"So you're saying that you and Ilend did not-"

"No!" Shadowmere nearly shouted. "No, no, no, no, no. No." Shadowmere shuddered at the thought, even as Sigrid looked a little disappointed. "Is my pack still in your tent?" she asked, trying to leave the topic behind.

"Yeah, your boots and sword are there too," Sigrid said, dropping the previous topic and nodding toward her tent. At a glance, the woman looked almost normal to Shadowmere; considering all that had happened, she would have been surprised if the Nord looked better than 'wrestling with personal demons' ever again. 'Normal' was almost completely unexpected. She thought back to the night when she had slept in Sigrid's tent and heard her cry.

"_Was it stress or exhaustion or was there something in particular she was crying over?"_ she wondered, pausing before going in to retrieve her belongings. As she came out she saw Sigrid huddled over the fire next to her tent, stirring it thoughtfully and lost behind the steam rising from the pot. She sat on the ground and gingerly pulled off the pigskin shoes, the swelling in her left foot more than noticeable when compared to the right. Not wanting the other woman to see, she hurriedly pulled on her boot, wincing as it put considerable pressure on the break.

"How bad is it?" Sigrid asked, not looking up from the pot, though she had seen enough to know something was wrong.

"It's…broken," she confessed, leaving out the details like color and amount of swelling, both of which were considerable. "I think I broke it again."

"Are you kidding me?" Sigrid shrieked, jerking back the corner of the tent, holding her spoon as though she was ready to kill.

"Would it be better if I lied or played it off as a joke?" Shadowmere asked meekly, not sure that Sigrid wouldn't use her impromptu weapon.

"Either way I'm feeling compelled to break the other one," she replied as she returned to her fire, the sound of her spoon clanking hard against the pot making Shadowmere jump.

"_Oooh, she's pissed,"_ she deemed with wide eyes. "Sorry." She heard the spoon hit the pot again and Sigrid made an almost animal grunt. _"I think I've pushed her over the edge,"_ she realized, her body tensing in anticipation of something being thrown at her.

"After all that work putting you back together and to have you break again so easily," Sigrid sighed, leaning back from the fire and letting her head drop back in exasperation. "Can't things ever just be fixed?" She couldn't be sure how long she had been lying bleeding and broken in Sigrid's tent, she had been able to gauge time only in how often she drank from the wine bottle, but the work it must have taken to get her back in shape had to have been tremendous. "It's enough to make me cry." As Sigrid rubbed her forehead, Shadowmere couldn't help but consider her choice of words.

"_Was she crying over my feet the other night?"_ She flinched as she tightened the laces of her boots. "Okay," she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I really have no business asking this, but I'm going to anyway."

"Oh boy," Sigrid sighed, putting a lid on the pot and crossing her arms, as though she was anticipating a showdown.

"Why were you crying the other night?" The woman looked surprised, then embarrassed that her moment of weakness had found a witness.

"I'd think that was obvious," she said, holding her arms closer to her chest.

"Yeah, but if it were just about Kvatch, you'd have cried out all that by now. You were thinking of something in particular." Looking suddenly haggard, Sigrid turned back to the pot, taking the lid off and peering inside.

"I was thinking of Freya, if you must know," she answered reluctantly.

"Who's Freya?" Shadowmere inquired as she tied off the laces of the left boot a few eyes short of the top. The sinew had run out, most likely due to the swelling requiring her to lace the shoe a bit looser than usual.

"My canary."

Shadowmere nearly wrenched her head with how quickly she turned to face Sigrid to see if she was in any way joking. Her bloodshot eyes near overflowing with suppressed tears as she struggled to keep stirring her concoction gave Shadowmere all the answer she needed. "When the attack came, I only had time to grab my trunk and run. I didn't have time to go back and get her." Shadowmere could hardly believe what she was hearing; the woman, who hadn't been fazed by the sight of her filleted hand and broken, mangled feet, was lamenting the loss of a simple little bird.

"_That really shouldn't surprise me,"_ Shadowmere considered, recalling that her life had been the result of Hannibal had being devoted enough to Penny to take the time to bury and avenge the fallen horse. _"A canary can't be all that different."_ "I'm sorry," Shadowmere said quietly. "You don't think there's any way she survived?"

"I always leave the door to her cage open," Sigrid admitted, though her voice was devoid of hope. "But when she was scared she would sit in the cage and hide her face under her wing. So I suppose yes, she **could** have gotten out, but history gives me reason to doubt that she did." There was nothing Shadowmere could think of to offer comfort to the apothecary; it wasn't something she was all that accustomed to doing. More often than not, she found herself using sarcasm to deflect sorrow and that hardly seemed appropriate. Sigrid gave a slight, chilly laugh and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "The strangest thing is that I keep thinking I see her, but it just turns out to be a flower or a leaf." Though she wasn't close enough to be certain, Shadowmere thought she saw a tear run from the outer corner of Sigrid's eye and leave a glimmering trail that reached her jawbone. "One time I saw a piece of my hair floating by and I could have sworn it was her." Many was the time Shadowmere had mistaken her long, rebellious hair for a bug or a shadow, but it had always been a relief to find it was not.

"_But Sigrid must be heartbroken every time she sees it's her hair,"_ she realized, feeling a bit melancholy herself at the thought of such disappointment. "I'm sorry." Sigrid shook her head and forced a smile, as though she could shake herself out of her depression.

"You didn't do anything," she assured her. "Maybe she did get out. Maybe she's just waiting for the smoke to clear before she comes back." Sigrid's words masqueraded as hopeful, but Shadowmere didn't believe for a moment that they meant anything.

"Maybe," she added uselessly. There was no consolation to be had; Shadowmere and Sigrid were simply engaging one another in a mutual lie for reasons that were altogether unclear. "I'll keep an eye out for her while I'm on the road." Sigrid looked up and her eyes lit up.

"You going somewhere?" she leapt at the chance to change the subject.

"Yeah, Weynon Priory," Shadowmere said, glad to have given the woman the only comfort that could be had at the moment. "I told Saeana I'd meet up with her there."

"Didn't Matius want you to stay?"

"Yeah. I told him that I needed to make sure Saeana didn't still need me. If she does need me, I'm going with her. If not, I'm yours." Visibly crestfallen, Sigrid made a valiant effort to simply shrug and continue her work.

"You have to do whatever you need to do, but to be honest it would be really useful to have someone around who's actually gutsy enough to get the job done. The guards are great," she added quickly. "And they've proven that, but they tend to get bogged down with the process." Shadowmere understood what Sigrid meant, though she hadn't been around them enough to confirm or deny her suspicions. "Not to mention it's kind of a sausage-fest with them now. I mean at this point Tierra's just one of the guys, so she doesn't nag them or keep them in line or make sure they take the time to bathe." Shadowmere had to laugh out loud, though she winced in the middle as she tightened her laces again.

"You're worried about them bathing?" she chided. Sigrid's eyes widened and she nodded earnestly.

"Until the town is rebuilt it's going to be pretty tight quarters in camp," she argued. "At least an attempt at personal hygiene would be appreciated."

"If I come back, I'll do what I can," Shadowmere said, swinging her pack onto her back. "If not, well then, good luck and thanks for everything." She felt like her tongue was stumbling to find the proper way to say goodbye. "Oh, and would you mind giving these back to Oleta?" Sigrid looked surprised as Shadowmere handed her the borrowed shoes.

"You're leaving now?" Sigrid murmured, accepting the shoes and struggling to keep her eyes from looking down.

"Yeah," Shadowmere answered, hoping she didn't sound as guilty as she felt. "I want to leave before Ilend comes back to follow me."

"Alright," Sigrid said, her eyes dropping in…disappointment? Shadowmere couldn't be sure, but that's what it looked like to her. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." Shadowmere nodded, shifting her bag onto her shoulders and heading to the road, her eyes peeled for any glimpse of yellow wings.


	15. Chapter 15

The Road to Weynon Priory

Aside from the grimacing pain in her foot, the first half hour of Shadowmere's walk was quite pleasant. Lacking anyone for conversation was somewhat liberating and she entertained herself by stopping every so often to pick flowers and braiding them into a crown.

"_When Mivryna showed me how to do this,"_ she remembered as she struggled with a particularly short stemmed nightshade. _"It didn't look that hard."_ It was less a matter of the nimbleness of her fingers and more a matter of that it had been at least ten years since she had been shown the task and her memory of the lesson was mixed with a slew of other memories. The road offered little in the way of distractions; seemingly endless waves of green and brown grass that barely moved in the slight breeze, nothing on the road but the occasional bug. There was a fair number of flowers from which she could choose to add to her chain, and the almost total silence was a very welcome relief from the sounds of battle and sorrow of the camp. _"Up, over, around, tuck,"_ she chanted in her mind, trying to make her fingers match the fingers in her mind. _"Up, over, around, tuck, up, over, around, tuck, up, over-"_

"Did you really think you were going to lose me for long?" The voice came out of nowhere and Shadowmere once again jumped and turned around, her sudden grip on her crown crushing a few of the flowers. There stood Ilend, trying to hide a shit-eating grin, evidently proud that he had once again scared the gods out of her.

"I had **hoped**!" she snapped, turning and hobbling away from him with more energy than she had previously employed.

"Even though you're limping like an old woman?" His voice was closer, and his steps were unlabored, proving that he was easily closing the gap between them. _"It was nice while it lasted,"_ she sighed, lamenting the loss of her solitude.

"Old women don't limp, they shuffle," she stated, trying to block out his presence and focus on braiding the flower chain. She had crushed the nightshade she had been trying to braid and so stuck it in her twisted hair, rather than trying to force it into place.

"Alright, limping like an old cripple," he corrected himself. "Are you sure you're alright to walk?"

"Yep, fine," she lied. Truth be told, she was in a fair bit of pain and would have given anything for a legion patrol or a Black Horse Courier rider to come along and give her a lift.

"Very well then," he said reluctantly, readily keeping pace with her. "So…what should we talk about?" He walked with his arms behind his back, making his chest puff out like a preening cock.

"Why do we have to talk?" she retorted, not taking her eyes off the growing work of art in her hands.

"Because the other option is me singing," Ilend said with a smirk. "And believe me when I say you want to avoid that at all costs. Where are you from?" Shadowmere kept her mouth shut and continued braiding a primrose into the crown. "You from Cyrodiil originally?" Silence. "Do you like any particular foods?" Again, there was silence. "What's your sign?" Still she refused to engage.

"_Persistent little turd, isn't he?"_

"Have you ever heard the song 'Sweet Lady of Wayrest?" That, whether he knew it or not, was a low blow, as thoughts of Hannibal started flooding her brain.

"_Goddamn it."_ The words were like vinegar to her brain as she resigned herself to having a conversation with Ilend. "The foot of the Valus Mountains," she muttered, receiving another solid waste devouring grin from Ilend. "South of Cheydinhal." He nodded, still eminently pleased with himself.

"It sounds lovely," he said, getting only a scoff from Shadowmere.

"Yeah," she spat with venom. The mere memory of the shack at the bottom of the mountains, close to a river and too far from civilization for screams to be heard, made her feel spiders crawling on her skin. "It's cold, in the middle of nowhere and there was no one else around. Paradise." Ilend looked taken aback and cleared his throat, as though trying to take the words back.

"I'm West Weald born and bred," he said, changing the subject just enough to pass over Shadowmere's bitter discomfort, but not so drastically that he sounded like a lunatic. Shadowmere couldn't have been less interested if he turned black and white and started speaking in monotone.

"Outstanding," she muttered acerbically as she picked more flowers, alkanets if she remembered what Saeana had told her. "Tell me more." She had to clench her teeth to say the words, but she did for the sake of keeping his mouth moving in an a-melodic manner.

"I worked for the Surilie brothers when I was younger." Though his face said that he knew what her game was, he didn't seem to mind.

"Fascinating." She briefly considered speaking in whinnies. _"At least he'd know I wasn't really listening." _

"My friends and I would often sneak into the storage locker and nip from the casks of the good vintages. Never once got caught, even though we'd come away stumbling drunk."

"Awesome." _"How difficult would it be to kill him and make it look like an accident?"_ she wondered, conjuring up images of shoving him off a cliff, or holding his head under water.

"How about you?" he asked, her charade apparently failing and forcing him to turn the conversation back to her. "What did you do as a crazy kid?" She chortled abruptly, her life as a "crazy kid" largely unbelievable.

"I was a horse." She didn't try to think of a convincing lie. _"He'll never believe me anyway," _she assumed._ "Why not?"_

"How was that?" he asked, smiling wryly.

"_He probably thinks he's just playing along,"_ she realized with some amusement. "Boring," she answered, still not looking up from her flowers. "Same thing, different days."

"What's it like to sleep standing up?" Shadowmere shrugged, remembering the odd position in which she slept so she might be ready for an attack from a mountain lion or a bear or some other predator that would see a reclined horse as an easy target.

"Nothing to write home about." It actually hadn't been terribly uncomfortable, just remarkably different from how she normally slept.

"How about oats?" he inquired, investing himself in their conversation. "What do oats taste like?" She could almost taste them, and she scraped her tongue against her teeth to try and clear the sensation away.

"Dry, crunchy. Better than hay." Ilend nodded thoughtfully, processing her answer.

"So, what was hay like?" He asked as a follow up.

"Ever chewed a piece of straw?" she asked, trying to find a way to relate the experience to someone who could never really understand.

"Yeah."

"Imagine chewing a mouthful, and then imagine it going down." That was the best she could do, but she wasn't really satisfied with the explanation. Ilend, however, didn't seem to have much quarrel with it.

"What about the bit and bridle?" he asked, moving on.

"Never had a bit. I wouldn't let anyone put it on me." That was one thing for which she could be grateful. She had seen other horses with sores in their mouths and broken teeth from owners that were overzealous with the reins.

"I can believe that," Ilend chuckled, shaking his head. "You don't seem the type to submit to someone else's rules," he added, the thought making Shadowmere smile. "On that note, how was the bridle?"

"It was fine if the rider didn't go crazy and start yanking my head from side to side." She had had a few of that type. "Probably why my back cracks loud enough to echo," she considered, not having thought about the two matters having anything to do with each other before.

"Now let me tell you about the time I was a goblin." Shadowmere couldn't stop a laugh at the sheer randomness of Ilend's statement.

"If you like." As much as she didn't want to admit it, she wasn't entirely hating his company and the conversation had helped distract from the pain in her foot. At the realization of having been given center stage, Ilend smiled and puffed up his chest again.

"I lived under a bridge," he stated grandly. "I would ask people three questions and if they answered them wrong I brought them home and ate them." Shadowmere nodded, putting the crown on her head and picking more flowers to start another.

"I don't see where you had any options," she said, gathering a handful of lady's smock from the side of the road.

"Well I had a wife and three little gob-lets to feed," he said, taking a moment to select a few stones from the side of the road and skipping them off the dusty road with remarkable skill.

"Wow, you lived the dream," she admired approvingly. "Except for the goblin part. And living under a bridge." After a sober nod, Ilend's act finally crumbled and he laughed out loud.

"You know," he chuckled, skipping another rock. "You're very good at this."

"_Making up stories by telling the truth," _she wondered. _ "Or reinforcing the lies of others?" _"Sarcasm is my native tongue." Silence took over for a short time, Shadowmere braiding the second chain, Ilend skipping rocks off the road.

"I have a confession to make," he said suddenly, pausing to get some more stones.

"Oh?" Shadowmere asked, lifting her eyes for just a moment. Ilend leaned in closer to her and put up his hand, as though telling a secret.

"I was never a goblin," he stage whispered. She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

"Shocking."

"I also never had a wife and gob-lets."

"Then how did you drink wine?" Ilend stared at her for a moment, and Shadowmere waited unflustered until the joke landed, getting a groaning laugh from him.

"That's just terrible," he groaned, skipping a rock an impressive three times. "Alright, tell me something else." Though she knew exactly what she wanted to say, she made a show of thinking of a "story" to tell him.

"I was a highwayman for five years," she said at last. "I killed people for money and information and worked as a prostitute when the need arose."

"Oh, this again," Ilend threw up his arms with his exasperated sigh. "Alright then, I was a skooma runner."

"That doesn't jeopardize your guard position?" she asked, knowing guards tended to be fairly hard-lined about stopping the flow of illegal substances in their counties.

"No," Ilend said, wiping dirt from the rocks onto his pants. "It's actually a requirement, to smooth the process. I had a flawless technique for sneaking the stuff into the country."

"What's the secret?" she needled, looking up from her new crown.

"Oh I'll never tell," he said, shaking his head. "It's a family secret, passed down from father to son."

"Fair enough. But tell me, did it involve a false limb?"

"How did you know?"

"When I was working as a prostitute, one of my customers' legs fell off and a few bottles of skooma fell out." That was, in fact, an excerpt from a part of her life on which Shadowmere had long since closed the book. Still, some things were too extraordinary to forget.

"Alright, I surrender," Ilend held up his hands, keeping his fingers closed around his fistful of stones. "I can't keep up with that. Oh, look!" Lifting her eyes from the flowers, she saw that he pointed at a group of wild horses off in the distance. "There have to be fifteen of them!" Shadowmere felt her eyes widen and she couldn't hide the marvel she found in the herd of beautiful animals; Ilend's estimation was accurate, there were approximately ten mature horses as well as no more than five foals that frolicked about nipping at one another playfully. Most of the herd consisted of Chestnuts, but there were a couple Bays and Paints as well, the varying shades of their brown coats shimmering in the sun like a river of bronze and copper. A beautiful black filly made for the only exception to the brown color palette; unlike the other foals, she stayed very close to her mother, almost like a shadow and the mare extended her neck toward her baby and nuzzled her nose against the filly's forehead. Something about the sight almost brought tears to Shadowmere's eyes.

"_Almighty Azura, pull yourself together Shad!" _she chastised herself, not wanting to cry at the sight of pretty horsies, and certainly not wanting to do so in front of Ilend.

"They're just standing there, why aren't they doing anything?" Ilend asked, tossing a rock in the air and catching it over and over again.

"They're probably grazing," she reasoned, noting that most of their heads were lowered to the ground, rising occasionally to check for danger and then descending again.

"It'd be great if we could see them all running together." Ilend's comment, coupled with the constant _"thwap"_ of the stone hitting the skin on his hand, gave Shadowmere an uneasy feeling. He made a move to skip the rock at the ankles of the nearest horse, a male Bay, giving credence to her feelings. As it left his fingers at roughly the speed of sound, Shadowmere caught the rock, her hand stinging with how hard the sharp edges had hit her palm.

"Don't. Do that."

Her words were cold as she glared with intensity that burned her own eyes at Ilend, who looked more than a little impressed at her catch and more than a little shocked at her change in demeanor. "Ever."

"What?" he asked, his words showing how genuinely confused he was about why she had intervened. "I was just going to hit the horse's leg to get them to move."

"Ignoring the fact that getting hit with a rock on the ankle is extremely painful," she said, her teeth still gnashing together to keep her from screaming at him. "If you spook one, you're going to cause a stampede. There are foals there that could easily be trampled by the bigger horses."

"It's not as though they belong to anyone."

"They belong to their mothers."

"Does that matter?" Ilend's truly bewildered ignorance only served to inflame Shadowmere further.

"Clearly not to you!" she snapped, feeling the stone dig even more into her hand as her grip tightened. "Let me put it this way; how hard do you think I'd have to skip this to get it to go clear up your dick-hole?"

"What?" She didn't know a man's yelp could reach that high a pitch.

"If you even think about doing something like that again, to any animal, I'll skip rocks until I get it right."

"Even wild ones?" She let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head at the fact that her ultimatum required further clarification.

"Don't be stupid, if you're attacked, fight back. If you're not attacked, don't antagonize, don't taunt, leave it alone. Is that simple enough?"

"Quite." With that, Shadowmere handed the stone back to him, giving a final, emasculating scowl before she pushed the garland she had been working on toward him.

"Hold this too," she said, tucking it into his hands before she started limping down the path. "And stay here."

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"I'm going to go convince the horses to leave the path so we can get around them."

"So, I'm not allowed to bother the horses, but you are?" The fact that he considered hitting a horse with a rock "bothering" only nurtured her impatience.

"I'm not going to 'bother' them. Horses aren't spooked by me."

"What are you, some kind of horse ambassador?"

"_You could say that,"_ she thought, smirking a little but not answering his question out loud. During her thirty years as a horse, she had very few masters or mistresses who realized she had the ability to communicate with them, however limited it was. Since she had been wanting for conversation on a human level, she had learned to "speak" the horse language out of necessity. She had also noted that while horses in the various stables she had frequented had learned to understand a modicum of Cyrodiilic, wild horses had no exposure to it and thus could not understand it.

As she coolly approached the herd, she made her way toward the matriarch, walking right up to her and the mare lifting her head. Shadowmere tossed her head and motioned away from the road toward an open pasture about a hundred yards from where they were. The mare nodded and nickered to the rest of the horses before the group moseyed off the road toward the new grazing patch. _"Thank you,"_ she wanted to shout though, to a wild horse, the words had no meaning. As she walked back, she could plainly see that Ilend's mouth was hanging open and the rocks in his hand had dropped all over the road.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"I told you, I was a horse," she said, taking back the garland.

"That was fun at the time, but honestly how are you able to do that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, carefully crouching to pick a couple of primroses. "Now let's go before they figure out that you and I are together."

"Do they know I was going to skip a rock at them?"

"I don't know, I didn't tell them. Are you coming or not?"

"Am I allowed to?" Shadowmere stopped and furrowed her brow as she considered his words.

"Come to think of it no, get the hell out of here," she practically ordered. Despite the words she had used, Ilend laughed lightly at her reaction.

"I think I'm going to come along anyway," he said after a moment's pause. "I'm slightly more afraid of Captain Matius than I am of you."

"Really?" she scoffed. "What threats has **he** made against your dick?" Ilend sighed and shook his head.

"I'd really rather not give you any ideas." She couldn't fault the man's logic, even if she found him distasteful.

From there, the two walked in silence, not even walking close enough that conversation could take place had either of them desired it. Though they kept pace with one another, Shadowmere kept to the right side of the dusty road while Ilend stayed to the left. As they approached the walk to the western gate to Skingrad, Shadowmere could no longer stand the pain in her left foot. Letting Ilend go on walking, she stopped by a boulder on the side of the road. Leaning back against the rock, she lifted her foot and massaged it carefully, not wanting to further the break.

"You're certain you're alright to walk?" It hadn't taken long for Ilend to realize she had stopped and return to her side where he now stood overhead, staring down with what looked like genuine concern.

"Yes," she snapped, not feeling particularly charitable. "Believe me when I say I've done harder things with worse injuries."

"You're hobbling," he stated, crossing his arms and obviously not accepting her answer.

"I have a broken foot, of course I'm hobbling," she snarled. "Wouldn't you hobble?" Ilend raised his arms and got an exasperated look on his face that Shadowmere would have laughed at, had she not previously threatened to skip rocks at his genitals.

"Then how are you alright to walk?" She hadn't believed that men could shriek, but if they could, the sound Ilend had made would have been textbook man-shriek.

"Do you see much choice?" she asked, resting her foot on the ground and getting up.

"I could carry you," he offered. "It really wouldn't be any trouble.

"No, no thank you," she said as she started her haggard walking again. The thought of actually owing this man a favor was enough to make her nauseated. "Hobbling is getting me there quickly enough. We wouldn't go any faster with you carrying me." Ilend sighed, letting his head drop.

"Fine, your choice," he surrendered and started after her. "Are we stopping at Skingrad for the night?"

"We can, if you're feeling tired." Ilend gave a humorless laugh.

"Is this the part where you attempt to verbally emasculate me by saying you were planning on walking all the way to Chorrol tonight with a broken foot, but you'll stop if I'm too much of a pansy to keep walking?" Shadowmere nodded, unable to find a more perfect way of phrasing the description.

"Yep, that's where we are right now," she confirmed, to which Ilend nodded and despondently ran a hand over his hair.

"Splendid," he muttered, his displeasure making her smile.

"_Gods, I am just terrible person,"_ she decided, knowing that finding such joy in the misfortune of others was the hallmark of a true asshole. As the two approached the gates, Shadowmere caught sight of the inclined paths just inside and was gently reminded by the angry throbbing in her foot that this was going to be something to be reckoned with. _"Don't you dare cry Shadowmere Blackmane,"_ she demanded of herself as she felt her heart sink into knees. Just when she considered setting up camp in the stables, she recalled that Skingrad was one of the few places that had an alchemical shop that was unaffiliated with the Mage's Guild. When she would travel with Saeana, getting potions was never a problem since her companion was a guild member, but as Shadowmere was less than gifted with arcane matters, independent potions shops were her only option. _"I'm not going to be stopped by pain when I'm this close to relief,"_ she affirmed. Limping up the hill to the left, she made her way along the curved road and stopped in front of All Things Alchemical. She strained to open the door, shaking the handle violently and throwing her weight against the hinges.

"Anyone in there?" she yelled, pounding against the thick wooden door. "Ilend, make yourself useful and get this open!" she ordered, desperation getting the better of her.

"Shop's closed for the next few months." Before Ilend could answer a new voice had jumped into the fray. She turned around to see a Skingrad city guard staring at her with suppressed amusement. "The proprietress got herself arrested; it's probably better if you don't ask how."

"But my foot is broken!" she whined, pointing at her beleaguered appendage which was swelling enough to strain the boot laces. "What am I supposed to do about that?"

"The chapel is just to the north, our healer Marie would be happy to fix you up." Shadowmere rolled her eyes and groaned; it was nothing short of pigheadedness to refuse the skill of a healer just because she worked in a chapel, but the thought of walking into the building that brought back so many bad memories was enough to make her skin crawl.

"I'll take the broken foot, thanks," she muttered. The guard shrugged, though his face was less nonchalant about her all but denouncing the Nine.

"Vergil!" Before the guard could make his displeasure known, Ilend walked past Shadowmere with a surprised and glad look on his face. His voice surprised Shadowmere, but she didn't jump, she simply looked back, somewhat taken aback to see her companion smiling and reaching out his hand to shake that of the Skingrad guard. "This is where you ended up?"

"Ilend, you dog!" The guard returned Ilend's surprised and glad smile, as well as the handshake. "We all thought you had died in Kvatch!"

"I thought I was going to until my friend Shadowmere here and her friend showed up to save all of our hides." She was surprised to hear Ilend both give her credit for saving Kvatch and claim her as a friend.

"_He probably just said 'my friend,' instead of 'this bitch,'"_ she decided, leaning against the stone building to take the strain off of her foot as Ilend and his actual friend caught up.

"How'd you get this posting?" Ilend asked, leaning against the building. "I thought you wanted to serve in Chorrol."

"Bernadette got a job working for Tamika, so it only makes sense for me to try for a posting here. In truth, Tamika was able to pull some strings in order to keep Bernadette from leaving."

"So you're defending the good people of Skingrad from the occasional bandit or inebriated neighbor. Tough gig." Vergil smiled and got a satisfied look on his face.

"It's a rough job, no doubt about it." It was quiet between the two men before Vergil cleared his throat and spoke again. "So," he started haltingly. "What's Kvatch like these days?" Had Ilend and her positions been reversed, Shadowmere would likely have punched the pampered guard. Ilend's heavy sigh effectively did the same thing.

"Smoky," he started, as though he didn't even know where to be begin. "It was night when the walls were breeched, so most of the town was in bed. Only about fifteen percent of the population made it out, and most had some kind of physical injury, and all are going to be scarred mentally. There's no medical supplies, very little food. It's…very bad." Shadowmere hadn't actually heard the situation described to someone who hadn't been there in such basic term; no food, no medicine, most dead. The simplicity of the matter twisted her stomach as she twisted the stems of the flowers in the garland. To her surprise, she found herself feeling compassion for the man she disliked so much. He had, for the first time, shown his soft underbelly and she didn't feel like punching him in it.

"God damn," Vergil murmured, shaking his head. "So, what's the plan? Is the count going to be rebuilding, or are you folks going to let it go?" Ilend's face twitched with uncertainty.

"I don't know how public this information is," he said, giving a quick look around. "So I'll thank you to keep it to yourself, but Count Goldwine wasn't in the lucky fifteen percent."

"You're serious?" Vergil's face drained of color and he took a step closer as he lowered his voice.

"I'm afraid so. Captain Matius has taken over as our de facto leader until a new count can be named. As of right now, his plan is to rebuild and there's been no opposition to the idea."

"What's the damage to the population?"

"Per capita, I'd put the number at less than twenty, including all the guardsmen, Shadowmere and her friend."

"God's blood," Vergil breathed, shaking his head. "I had heard it was bad, but less than twenty, that's…horrific."

"It's even worse to see it," he shuddered. "The bastards picked off the weakest and worked their way up."

"Is there anything we can do?" Vergil asked. "Other than pray?" Shadowmere wanted to flick the man in the ear for such a stupid comment. "I'm going to guarantee that all the people who died were all praying when they were torn apart and set on fire," she thought bitterly. "What good did it do them?"

"Anything that anyone can spare is welcome," Ilend said. "As I said, we don't really have anything so we'd be grateful for whatever is given." Vergil nodded, holding out his hand.

"I have to get back to my rounds," he said reluctantly as he shook Ilend's hand. "But I'll see what I can drum up for Kvatch amongst the guards."

"We'd appreciate that," Ilend said with a smile. "Take care of yourself and give my regards to Bernadette."

"Will do, take care." As the man walked away, Ilend turned his attention back to Shadowmere, who still leaned patiently against the stone building.

"We trained together," he said before she could get the question out of her mouth. "In the Imperial City, longer ago than either of us would care to admit." His slight smile fell as he spoke, remembering simpler times.

"It's kind of strange that you two ended up serving in such different places," she said, gingerly wiggling her toes to keep them from falling asleep.

"Kvatch wasn't all that different from Skingrad," he said quietly. "And to be honest I think they would have fared about the same if they had been attacked instead of Kvatch. Count Hassildor might have been a little more effective than Count Goldwine, simply because he's more sensitive to threats against his county, but I doubt the difference would have been measurable." Ilend sighed shaking his head, almost as though he was analyzing what had happened at Kvatch. "But there's just no amount of training that can prepare people to deal with that," he decided. After a moment of silence, Shadowmere not knowing what to say, she opted to move the conversation forward.

"Alright, we need a place to stay," she commented, pushing herself off the stone she had leaned against. "What are our options?" Her question seemed to bring Ilend out of his post trauma analysis, and he looked almost surprised to see her standing there, despite the fact that had spoken not ten seconds earlier.

"There's the Two Sisters, and the West Weald," he listed.

"Yeah, those cost money," she dismissed.

"Don't you have some?"

"Yeah, but you apparently have friends in town," she less than subtly suggested. "Who are evidently looking to help." Ilend shook his head and crossed his arms.

"There's an unspoken rule among city guards," he said firmly. "Unless invited, we don't stay overnight."

"That's a silly rule," she stated, crossing her arms in return. "Do you have some rules about not being good hosts or something?" As he cocked his head to the side, looking for the right way to answer her question, Ilend looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Well," he started slowly, almost as though he was haggling with his brain to give him the words he wanted. "Since we have dangerous jobs, we like to option to be…conjugal…with significant others without worrying about guests." As much as she wanted to laugh, Shadowmere couldn't get the image of some guards naked, ones that she never wanted to imagine as such, out of her head.

"That's a lot more than I needed to know."

"It's the simple truth of it," he shrugged, his cheeks flush, but overall he seemed uncharacteristically unembarrassed by talking about sex.

"Anyway," she said, shaking her head to clear the dirty pictures from her mind. "You said you know the Surilie brothers." Ilend scoffed and shook his head with vigor.

"Believe me when I say that we don't want to stay with them."

"And why would that be?"

"In laymen's terms, they're pricks." Shadowmere couldn't help but laugh at the frank language, as she had the sense of humor of a thirteen year old boy.

"Well, they probably have a lot of booze," she pointed out. This was a strong argument in her mind, but Ilend remained unconvinced.

"Honestly Shadowmere, I'll pay for a room." His strong aversion to staying with his acquaintances gave her an idea.

"Fine, you stay in a room, I'll go stay with the pricks." If she could convince him to stay at an inn, she might be able to sneak off before he woke up the following morning.

"Gods but you're stubborn," he growled in exasperation. "I'd have more luck negotiating with a door handle.

"Well with any luck you won't have to put up with me for much longer," she retorted, narrowing her eyes. "Are you coming or not?"

"Do you always go to strangers houses and ask to sleep?" It amused her that Ilend though she had never done anything so scandalous.

"I usually kill them first actually." Ilend put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"See I don't know if you're kidding or not."

"Of course I am," she said, mirroring his stance. "I don't do that anymore." Ilend shook his head. "The vineyard is just outside the gates, right?" Shadowmere asked, leaning against a garbage cask to take the weight off her foot.

"Yeah, but don't you want food first?" While Ilend's suggestion was a valid one, Shadowmere had no doubt that it was an attempt to delay their visit to the Surilie's.

"You don't think your boys have food at their house?"

"They probably have cheese, tomatoes, sweetrolls and mutton," Ilend stated. "But they do their shopping on Sundas and since this is Loredas, they probably don't have enough for four."

"Alright we can stop and eat first," she sighed, secretly glad she could sit and rest her foot. "This alright?" she asked, pointing toward a sign hanging over a door to an establishment called the West Weald Inn.

"Fine, anywhere but that Orc establishment," he muttered, shuddering a little. "Eating there gives me the creeps."

"Oh? Where's that?" Shadowmere didn't particularly care for Orc cuisine, due in part to her time spent in the Imperial City's stable, but she was eager for any opportunity to make Ilend leave.

"Clear across town," he stated quickly. "And for the record, the last cut of beef I had there whinnied."

"I was convinced at 'clear across town'," Shadowmere said trying to get the most recent unpleasant image out of her head. Ilend pushed open the door to the West Weald Inn, allowing Shadowmere to go in first before he followed. As the building was made of stone and dark wood, it was more than a little dim, but the several large windows on the floor above them went a long way to lighting the establishment. The patrons didn't even glance at the door as they made their way through the foyer. A tall, brunette woman, a Nord if Shadowmere guessed correctly, stood sipping a tankard while a heavily armored Bosmer and a well dressed Orc chatted about what sounded like Kvatch, as they were using words like "dead," "finished," and "dead."

"Food, room or both?" Shadowmere looked at a blond Imperial woman, presumably the proprietress, behind the counter, leaning over a ledger book.

"At least food," Ilend said, his voice hopeful.

"Alright, dinner list is on the board," she replied, pointing toward a large slateboard propped against the counter.

"Beef stew for me," Ilend said, slumping at a table. "And some of Tamika's wine." The mention of the wine she had had as a painkiller made Shadowmere cringe and an inexplicable shiver run down her spine.

"The chicken and rice with mushrooms," she said quickly, sitting across from Ilend. "And beer. Lots of it." She grabbed a chair from another table, pulled it over, and eased her foot up onto it.

"Ma'am you don't happen to have an icehouse, do you?" Ilend asked as the proprietress headed to the kitchen. The woman scowled.

"Tamika's stuff is best served slightly chilled, not on ice," she stated haughtily.

"It's actually for my friend's foot." This came as something of a shock to Shadowmere, but she did her best to not show it.

"_What's his angle?" _she wondered._ "Is he trying to kiss up to me to get me to try and stay here?" _"It'll be fine after it's up for a while," she said quickly. "It's not worth mentioning."

"What's the trouble?" The woman asked, lifting her eyebrow.

"_I doubt she actually cares," _Shadowmere decided._ "I'm guessing she's just nosy."_ "Nothing really-" she tried to lie, but was cut off by Ilend.

"It's broken." Shadowmere glared at him; she hadn't wanted to give the woman, who looked to be the nagging type, any reason to fuss and keep them there longer.

"A healing potion would be better than ice," she said, eying how distorted the leather of Shadowmere's boot had grown from her appendage's swelling.

"Falanu's out of business for a while," a tall, severe looking Nord woman piped in. "They caught her in the graveyard again." All the regulars in the tavern shuddered, giving Shadowmere the impression that she and Ilend were better off in the dark on this matter.

"Is she a necromancer or something?" Ilend asked, clearly not getting the same vibe she had.

"Not a necro_mancer_," the Nord said slowly. "But if you pronounce it differently, like nec_romancer_…"

"Gods blood Else, they haven't eaten yet!" the proprietress snapped. "You'll put them off their appetites!"

"Oh you can bite my garters Erina," the Nord snorted, returning to her tankard.

"And if you don't watch your mouth, you can find somewhere else to drink." The Nord rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded unkind into her tankard as she brought it to her lips. Erina turned her attention back to Ilend and to Shadowmere, who was slightly amused by the interactions.

"_They're like a paler, bitchier version of Saeana and me,"_ she decided, and found herself feeling nostalgic for the transient life she had with her friend. _"Keep it together,"_ she coached herself as her feelings crept in. _"Everything's going to be back to normal in a day or two."_

"I'll bring you some ice when I come back," Erina interrupted her thoughts as she walked out again. Reluctantly, Shadowmere glanced up at Ilend with a mix of guilt and gratefulness.

"Thanks," she mumbled, gingerly unlacing her boot. "That was nice of you to do." Ilend looked just as surprised to hear her say the words as she felt to say them.

"It's nothing," he said, leaning forward. "From the looks of your shoe it's going to take some convincing to get your foot back into it." With surgeon's hands, she eased the leather away from her skin and, using one hand to support her foot and the other to peel off the boot, and brought the limb into the dim light. "Holy shit," Ilend blurted out. "That looks terrible." Shadowmere scoffed.

"Remind me not to have you at my deathbed," she said, wrapping her hands around her foot to stop the throbbing.

"I'm sorry, but…well look at it!" Shadowmere couldn't argue against his words; her normally azure foot was painted a few shades of angry purple and was perhaps one and a half times its normal size. "That's one of the most horrible bruises I've ever seen." His words made her head jerk up and her pulse quicken slightly.

"You- you can see the bruising?" she asked in disbelief.

"Umm…is that a trick question?" he inquired, his body becoming defensively rigid even sitting at the table.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head at her own reaction. "Most people can't tell when or where I have a bruise." It was Ilend's turn to scoff.

"A person would have to blind and have your head under a rock to not notice this," he stated with certainty. "Are you sure you won't reconsider going to the chapel?"

"No, I'll stick with ice and booze, thanks," she snipped, wincing as she massaged her foot lightly.

"Now there's some sensible thinking!" the Nord woman cheered, raising her tankard in Shadowmere's direction. "Why give your money away to the chapel charlatans when it's so much more fun and effective to drink the pain away?" Ilend turned to the woman with a look that made Shadowmere sigh and put her face into her hands.

"The healers would only be charlatans if they charged for their services, which they don't," Ilend snapped.

"To start with," the woman began her retort. "Then they get you to tithe and donate stuff and volunteer." Shadowmere got the distinct feeling that she was witnessing the inception of a new holy war.

"_Because we were wanting for another one of those."_

"The gods are a just a clever ruse for a bunch of lazy bums with too much time on their hands to make a living without doing anything. And if you don't like that, you can bit my garters." The idea seemed to appeal to Ilend and his face flushed as it had when Shadowmere started unlacing the waist of her armor.

"Is there a particular spot where I ought to sink in my teeth Miss…?"

"God-Hater. Else God-Hater."

"Ahh, so you're honoring the family name I see," Ilend drawled with more snide than Shadowmere had thought he was capable of. "Your hatred of the Gods may have next to nothing to do with any knowledge of or experience with them."

"Hard to have an experience with something that doesn't exist," Else stated taking a guzzle of her beverage. "I'm guessing any quality time you spend with the gods is accompanied by some leather grease and an old towel."

"And I'm guessing that getting people to bite your garters is the most action you get-"

"Would you both just stuff it already?" Shadowmere found the words bursting from her mouth. "You're not going to convince each other, so just give it a rest."

"Shadowmere, we have a duty to-" Ilend started to protest.

"Don't lump me in with you, Skippy," she shot. "And I guarantee she's heard the shtick before, the duty's been done." She turned to the woman, who looked entirely too smug.

"And Else, if you get off by challenging peoples' religious beliefs fine, have fun, but do it where people aren't paying to sit. It's just annoying." With that, she sat back in her chair and let out a breath, her effort resulting in silence.

"About damn time," Erina said, making her way inside, balancing a tray as she wrangled with the door. "I was getting ready to throw both of you out."

"You were out in the kitchen, you couldn't hear us," Else shot back.

"Right, so that was two other people yapping about religion and masturbation?" Shadowmere tittered as Erina set her plate in front of her. She thought certain that Ilend would turn to stone after hearing the word "masturbation" said aloud, but he simply continued to turn shades of red and pink. As she took a sip of her beer, she felt Erina put a hand on her shoulder. "I normally charge a septim for a bucket of ice," she said, setting a large bucket overflowing with ice on the floor by her chair. "The quiet is worth at least that."

"Thanks," Shadowmere said, taking a scarf from her bag, she wrapped a few pieces of ice into a neat little package and cautiously laid it on the most swollen part of her foot, over the arch and reaching into her toes. The subtle weight sent a pulse of pain through her entire lower leg and the cold send a tensing, almost tickling sensation along with it.

"Better?" Ilend asked, his complexion almost back to its normal tan as he poked his stew with his spoon.

"It will be," she grunted, taking a guzzle of beer to comfort herself. "Right now, it's just cold and painful." With another comforting sip, she took a napkin from the table and made another icepack. She firmly placed it between the back of the chair and the arch of her foot, wincing once again. Despite her current discomfort, she knew from past experience that this was the quickest way to reduce the swelling in her broken foot. Rather than dwell on the muted pain, she opted to dig into her meal, an odd mix of grey and taupe colors that tasted only moderately better than it looked. Swallowing quickly, she took a gulp of beer to chase it down, noting that Ilend was still examining his first spoonful of his alleged beef stew.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked, pointing to a long string hanging from the spoon.

"If you're lucky, hair," she said after scrutinizing the strand. "If not, rat whiskers." Ilend flinched, pulling it from the spoon and letting it drop to the floor.

"I thought the same thing," he shared, cautiously taking a bite. He chewed thoughtfully while she took another bite of her own dinner, analyzing what she put in her mouth. The rice was definitely rice and the mushrooms were definitely mushrooms, wisp stalk caps if she were to judge by appearance and taste, but that was the end of her certainty. The meat was a mystery, as was the greyish sauce.

"How is it?" she asked, taking a hasty swallow of beer and noticing that his face was somewhat less than tan.

"I hope the white things are radishes, because they don't taste like potatoes," he stated, wiping his mouth. "And the meat is the rattiest tasting beef I've ever had." Suddenly, in a wave of nausea, the mystery of the meat in Shadowmere's dish felt solved. "I hate to admit defeat," he said sheepishly. "But why don't we just head for the Surilie's?" As badly as she wanted to gloat, Shadowmere could only sigh as she moved her plate to her other chair, the smell of rat suddenly overwhelming.

"My foot needs a little while longer before I can get my boot back on." Ilend looked at the wine glass that he had managed to nearly drain in the remarkably short time it had been at the table.

"You're under no obligation to stay," she pointed out, realizing this could work to her advantage. "You could go spend the night at the chapel or something." Ilend scoffed.

"I'm not an idiot," he chided. "You'd just try to leave me behind again. Then I'd catch up with you hobbling half a mile down the road where I'd probably end up scaring you and you'd yell at me again." Shadowmere shook her head and felt like sulking. She had really had been counting on Ilend being an idiot.

"Alright, fair enough," she admitted. "Well you might as well order some more wine. I can't see leaving for at least another hour, but probably more." She took another sip of her beer, while Ilend leaned back and groaned, his despair cruelly comical to her. _"As much of a bitch as that makes me."_

"How about I carry you?" he offered, more out of desperation than chivalry.

"For the last time, no way," she snapped, not at all happy about his continued suggestion, chivalrous, desperate or some combination of both. "Just because I let Jesan carry me once doesn't mean I'm an invalid."

"I didn't mean to impl- wait, Jesan carried you?" he asked for clarification.

"Yeah, from the remains of the gate after I brought Menien out, when my feet looked like they were attached to the opposite legs."

"You're sure it was Jesan?"

"Yeah, why?" _"What's he getting at?"_ she wondered with suspicion. Ilend scoffed incredulously.

"I didn't think he was nearly strong enough."

"WHAT?" Shadowmere shrieked, nearly leaping across the table to level Ilend, who looked appalled with the words even as they had left his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that!" he explained quickly, holding up his hands in a frantic show of submission.

"How else can that statement be intended?" Shadowmere refused his apology before it even reached her ears.

"He's a noodle! On a good day, he could maybe carry your friend!" Shadowmere felt her jaw drop, at a rare loss for words at how deeply Ilend was digging his hole. "Wait, I mean because she's so delicate looking and you're so…strongly built! Wait-!" Using her good leg Shadowmere, squarely and without restraint, kicked him in the testicles. The man squeaked, buckled, and fell off his chair, hitting the floor like a sack of wet flour.

"If your mouth had a crotch I would have punched that instead," she added, rubbing the momentary sting out of her good foot. Ilend said nothing coherent, merely lay groaning on the floor. The rest of the patrons rolled their eyes and said nothing of much mind, though the two men in the building, the heavily armored Bosmer and well dressed Orc, had audibly winced when Ilend had been struck. As nice as the place seemed it was, at its heart, a bar and their altercation was neither the first, nor the last the establishment would see.

"Another beer?" Erina asked, taking the empty bottle and goblet from the table.

"Sure," Shadowmere said, leaning back in the chair. "I doubt he's moving very far or fast for a while." Erina nodded in agreement.

"Back in a moment," she said, barely noticing Ilend almost writhing on the floor.

"Sha-?" he gasped after a few seconds.

"What?" she asked with some annoyance as she cleaned under her fingernails.

"C-could I have some ice? Please?" She wanted to tell him to go do unspeakable things to himself, but his voice was just pathetic enough that she sighed and handed down a couple chunks to his quivering hands. To her surprise the man, whom she thought to be more than a little prudish, unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his trousers and eased the ice into his crotch. "Sorry chaps," he muttered, Shadowmere struggling to not laugh out loud at the conservative guard talking to his balls. Erina returned with the drinks, left them on the table and walked away, never saying a word about Ilend with his hand still in his pants.

"You realize," Shadowmere said, after finishing both the wine and the beer. "That the ice melting in your pants is going to make you look like you pissed yourself."

"Lesser of two evils," he grunted. "I know I was…lacking in judgment, but did you have to do that?"

"I let you get away with one," she pointed out. "Then you continued speaking and I still didn't do anything. After three times, you get kicked in the nuts. That's the rule."

"So I'm only allowed to be stupid twice in a row before you hit me?"

"In the nuts," she clarified. "I can slap you in the face or punch you in the eye at any point. It's left to my discretion."

"You couldn't have just slapped me?" he whimpered, putting his hand on the seat of the chair and making an attempt to get up.

"I can do that now if you like," she offered. "I'd be happy to do it."

"You're too kind, but I think I'll take a rain check." He managed to drag himself into the seat, never taking one hands off of his embattled gonads.

"Stop grabbing your crotch, you look like a pervert," she said, drinking more beer.

"I'm applying pressure," he scowled. "Believe me when I say that pleasure has absolutely no place in my actions right now." He gingerly adjusted his position in his seat and noticed the empty goblet at his seat. "Have you been drinking my wine?" he asked, shaking his head in dismay.

"Yes, it's supposed to be slightly chilled, not room temperature. Remember?" she confirmed, as though she had done him a great service. "You're welcome." She was enjoying poking Ilend with a metaphorical stick perhaps a little more than was proper, but he was hardly resisting.

"Gods, you must be Arkay's living saint," he muttered.

"Hey! I'll kick you myself you little bitch!" Else spat from another table. "Keep your gods out of my ears!"

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," Shadowmere interjected. "But I've got this under control."

"I'm entitled to defend my beliefs!" Else slammed her tankard to the table to emphasize her point.

"But that's not what you're doing!" Shadowmere exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "You're just threatening people when they say something you don't like!"

"Isn't that how your boyfriend got his danglers mangled?"

"I didn't threaten him! He earned a testicle thrashing when he called me fat!"

"I never said-!"

"SHUT UP!" both women yelled. Ilend willingly obliged. "And hey, he called a spade a spade," Else smirked, uncrossing her arms, showing how lean her torso was. Shadowmere wasn't threatened by the sight.

"That really means a lot coming from a woman with a face that looks like a hemorrhoid and the boobs of a thirteen year old boy." Else reared back and lunged for Shadowmere, who rolled under the table from her chair, knocking her foot along the way. "Holy Gods!" she cried, holding her foot with both hands.

"You bitch!" Else shouted, flipping the table. "I'll kill you!" Realizing she had awakened an ogre, Shadowmere reached for the only weapon she could reach. Sticking out her good foot, she tripped Else, bringing her to the ground. Crawling on top of her, she shoved her weapon into the Nord's face; her plate of rice and mystery grey meat.

"Tap out when you've had enough," she said, Else already flailing wildly. Shadowmere was able to dodge her swinging fists and watched carefully for any sign Else was giving up. Finally the Nord slapped the ground twice and Shadowmere pulled the plate off of her, revealing her face plastered with the pasty substance, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth gulping air. She coughed heavily, blasting gobs of rice and gravy across the room.

"Alright," Erina said, crossing her arms as she stood over the mess that had taken over her establishment. "I put up with the religious verbal fistfight, the dumbass getting kicked and falling on the floor, but now I'm asking you to leave."

"She attacked me!" Shadowmere responded, trying not to shriek. "She flipped your tabl-"

"I know," Erina said, holding up a hand. "But she's my regular and I know her money's good. If you stay, she's going to keep coming back and trying to kick your ass. Please just pay your tab and go. Take the bucket of ice if you like."

"Done," Ilend said, clumsily getting to his feet and still "applying pressure" to his lowers. "Let's go Shadowmere," he said as he pulled a handful of septims from his pocket and tossed them on the table before grabbing the bucket and ice packs and making for the door. "Let's get a move-on."

"You pansy," she hissed, grabbing her pack and boot before limping to the door. "You could have at least been less of a doormat." As they stepped outside, Ilend turned back to her with a scowl on his face.

"You're welcome, by the way," he said tersely, as angry as she'd ever seen him.

"For what?" she snapped.

"Paying your bill and keeping you from getting killed," he shot back. "For starters."

"And how did you do that?" she asked, matching his snide. "Weren't you busy copping a feel on yourself?"

"Applying pressure. To the wound you gave me. And Erina is…extremely unpleasant when she's angry." His comment struck her as so asinine that she had to laugh.

"If you haven't noticed, I am too."

"The worst you've done is break Menien's hip and bust me in the balls. Every time Erina's had a strong disagreement with someone, the other party often wound up either injured or dead."

"But not by her hands." If Shadowmere were to judge by the woman's appearance, the most hands on work the proprietress had ever done was uncork a bottle of spirits.

"A number of very formidable people frequent her establishment," Ilend stated, his growing frustration evident. "And the suspects in the crimes could always be traced back to her inn."

"And it's completely out of the question that the people she had issues with were naturally quarrelsome people who might have picked other fights that they happened to have lost?"

"Some maybe," he admitted. "But not all of them. Either way you were fixing to end up in that position and between your broken foot and my crushed nuts, I don't see where either of us was in a suitable state to throw down the gauntlet." Shadowmere had to concede that point.

"Fine," she said, her stomach grumbling. "But now I'm still hungry and I'm going to be cranky."

"I'm guessing the Surilies have **some** food."

"Yeah, tomatoes, cheese, sweetrolls and mutton, I remember." She was in the mood for food, not nosh, and she was disgusted by mutton.

"Don't forget the wine," Ilend reminded her. "Liquid bread, that stuff." When she remained unmoved, he simply shrugged. "Of course we could just keep walking and find an inn-"

"No, we'll stay," she conceded. Staying with the Surilies had started as an excuse to piss off Ilend, but now the throbbing in her foot wasn't going to permit any more significant walking for that day. "Lead the way." She made a move to take the ice bucket from Ilend.

"Ahh…" he started, pulling it out of her reach. "I think I'll carry that if it's all the same." Shadowmere noticed that he carried the bucket against his groin, covering the wet patch there.

"Fine by me," she said. Her goal wasn't to embarrass him, only to irritate him enough to walk away. They said nothing else as they made their way to the slight incline in the road that led to the west gate. "Hang on," she said, leaning against the nearby wall. "I'm not trying that without my boot on." She cautiously eased her tender, still swollen foot into the boot, with no small amount of wincing, and started lacing.

"What kind of armor is that?" Ilend asked, surreptitiously taking another chunk of ice from the bucket and sticking it down his pants.

"Leather," she said, surprised that he couldn't tell. "No idea what kind, but it's leather."

"Does it have some kind of enchantment on it?" He got closer, inspecting her arm.

"_I could elbow him in the face and call it an accident,"_ she contemplated. "Probably; I've never tested it."

"Well, where'd you get it?" he asked, inspecting the threads. Images of walking through hot coals, running around with her sword in the air during a thunderstorm and having knives thrown at her ran through her head.

"When I was fourteen, this guy tried to rape me so after I killed him I stole the armor from him. When I had the money, I had it tailored to fit me." Ilend rolled his eyes and stood up, letting go of her arm.

"Of course, and my smallclothes are made from the skin of my first love."

"That was a great deal more than I needed to know," she said, looking up for only an instant before tying the knots in the laces.

"So was your anecdote."

"Yeah, but you asked."

"I asked where you got your armor, not for the weirdest possible explanation." Shadowmere rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Look, I found it when I was younger and had it tailored to me," she said, starting her hobble. Despite having told the truth, the truth was simply not to be believed, like so much in her life.

"Well then in that case," he said, following after her. "My smallclothes were not made from the skin of my first love."

"Why are you explaining that?" she asked, looking back at him. "I fully realize yours is the only skin on your body." Ilend shrugged.

"Just wanted to make sure you knew that you're not traveling with a psychopath. There are some strange people out there."

"Believe me, I realize this," she said, remembering some of the people she had known over the years. "Let's just get to the Surilies, get some food and get drunk." Ilend sighed heavily.

"I would agree with you completely, but for the first item on that list," he said, his voice dragging its feet.

"No one's ordering you to come with me," she reminded him with more than a little hope in her voice.

"Actually I **was** ordered to go with you," he corrected her. "So we're together for the long haul."

"_Great. All I wanted was to get to the priory without tearing my hair out,"_ she lamented as she walked out the gate and into a near sea of green. On either side of the path, there were high grasses and wildflowers, amidst the plowed fields of the wineries that were oddly close to one another considering they were in direct competition with one another.

"It's on the right," Ilend said. As they, less than nimbly, vaulted the wooden fence, Shadowmere caught sight of two men working in the fields of neatly lined grapes, and began to take stock.

The shorter of the two wore a black hood that, in addition to looking terribly out of place, obscured the better part of his features. What she could see was that beneath the sleeves of his blue shirt, his muscles were rippling as he worked diligently with a rake, and his clothes were soaked with a thick layer of sweat. The other was tall, dark blond and just as filthy as his brother. He was built larger, but leaner and more muscular, his brown linen shirt rolled over his sinewy forearms and the collar soaked down to the second button. And, if she were to judge by the slight glow of his pale skin, he was a Breton.

"Are they Bretons?" she murmured, moving her lips as little as possible.

"Of course," Ilend said, slightly aghast that she had to ask. "Why, does that matter?"

"I know a lot of racist jokes," she said, in all honesty. "I just need to know which ones are completely inappropriate." It was actually simple curiosity that made her inquire as to the brothers' race; it was sometimes difficult for her to see the subtle differences between Imperials, Bretons and Nords and she wanted her guess confirmed.

"Wouldn't they all be inappropriate?" Ilend asked, with an eyebrow raised. "Isn't that kind of the definition of a racist joke?" Shadowmere sighed and searched for a way to explain what she meant, lamenting that having to explain herself was becoming so frequent an occurrence.

"It's the difference between farting in someone's parlor and taking a dump in someone's parlor," she said with a juvenile sense of pride for her analogy. "Neither is appropriate, but one is kind of funny and the other is just wrong." Ilend's horrified expression was only tempered by how bright his cheeks grew, and the combination made Shadowmere want to laugh until she couldn't draw breath.

"Please don't do either," he nearly begged, his expression and voice so pitiful that Shadowmere couldn't help but give in to his request.

"Alright," she said quietly, with a nod toward the brothers. "Who's who?"

"Gaston is the one with the hood," he murmured. "Davide is the tall one."

"_Good to know,"_ she thought as Davide started walking toward them. "Why does he wear the hood?" she asked, trying to get the question in before the other brother approached. Ilend scoffed, not losing his poker face.

"He's balding and he thinks it makes him look mysterious," he snorted. Shadowmere stifled a slight giggle as the unbalding brother approached them, dusting off his hands.

"Hello folks, welcome to the Surilie Vin- Ilend?" To his credit, Ilend made a commendable effort towards looking unannoyed, but Shadowmere could see that he was displeased that the vintner remembered him so clearly.

"Davide, good to see you," he said, nonetheless, holding out his hand to shake it. "It's been a while."

"Gods, it's been ages," Davide exclaimed, shaking his hand vigorously. "Gaston, come here a minute!" As the other brother made his way over, Davide took notice of Shadowmere. "Ilend have you finally settled down?" he asked, his eyes flickering more than once down to her breasts.

"_Great it's going to be one of those visits,"_ she surmised. She wasn't naïve, she knew men were going to stare at her ample bosom, but it was always frustrating when she constantly had to remind them where her eyes were. "Not in his wildest dreams," she scoffed, holding out her hand. "I'm Shadowmere." The man smiled as he kissed her hand.

"Davide Surilie," he said, his voice smooth as Cyrodiilic Brandy. "Trust me when I say you're much easier on the eyes than anyone Ilend ever brought before."

"Ilend Vonius!" The hooded brother called hurrying closer before Shadowmere could respond. "Gods man, where have you been?" he asked, shaking his hand and clapping his shoulder with perhaps a bit too much verve.

"Working," he said simply, wincing a little. "The life of a city guard doesn't allow much time for visiting old friends." He visibly struggled to say the word "friends" in a genuine manner.

"And who's the lovely lady?" Gaston's eyes mimicked his brothers, darting between her eyes and rack. Over her many years, the phrase "men are pigs" had been uttered many a time, sometimes by women, sometimes by men. Times like these reminded her why the sentiment had survived the ages.

"I'm Shadowmere," she said as he curled his fingers uncomfortably around hers.

"Ilend, well done," Gaston said, elbowing him just a bit too roughly. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not his woman," she said firmly. "He's only here because he's following orders." The two brothers chortled slightly.

"Is that what we're calling it?" Gaston asked, his voice struggling to keep from breaking as he and his brother shared odd looks.

"She's serious boys," Ilend followed up. "My superior ordered me to accompany her to and from Weynon Priory." The brothers shared a look that plainly said they were doubtful of his allegation.

"Well, no matter," Davide said. "Come, it's just about quitting time; let's go back to the house, we'll have a drink and catch up." Davide offered Shadowmere his elbow which she cautiously accepted.

"_It's like walking with a starving mountain lion,"_ she realized, keeping an eye on the man beside her as well as his brother walking awkwardly close behind them.

"So my dear," Davide said, trying to keep her attentions. "From where do you hale?"

"I'm not one to put down roots," she said, not eager to give him a way to track her down. "I've lived long enough in all the counties to be able to call myself a citizen of them all. Plus some time in Morrowind." Davide did a double-take that, to Shadowmere, almost looked genuine.

"How is that possible?" he asked, with astonishment. "You look like you're only about twenty-five years old!" She shrugged, ignoring the blatant flattery.

"I've crammed a lot of living into my years," she said coyly, avoiding the unasked question of how old she actually was. It wasn't as though she felt any real need to hide her age, but these two seemed nosy enough to pry into her life and it was just too complicated. Sometimes she just wanted to tell her life story without reservation or regret. Alas, this would not be the time.

"Beg pardon," Davide cut in on her melancholy. "But are you limping?" For a moment she had forgotten her injury, but his question brought it screaming back.

"Yeah, broken foot," she said quickly, wanting to give as brief an explanation as possible. "I jumped off a pile of rubble and landed wrong."

"Oh you poor thing!" he exclaimed, making a show of putting her arm around his shoulder and his arm around her waist. "Let's get you inside where you can rest." As much as she didn't want to be fawned over, particularly by any of the men in her company, she could definitely use her injury to her and Ilend's advantage.

"That'd be great," she said, allowing him to feel like a hero. "Ilend has my ice bucket, but I wish I had something to dull the pain a little." From behind her, Shadowmere heard Gaston let out a short laugh.

"My dear," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "We can not only dull your pain, we can make you forget you have a foot!" She smiled, feigning a pathetic demeanor.

"_Dumbasses,"_ she thought with a satisfied smirk. "Much obliged, but we still have to find a place to stay tonight. We've already been told we can't stay at the West Weald Inn."

"Oh don't be silly, you'll stay with us!" Davide said firmly. "We'll even let Ilend stay too." Ilend did his best to look pleased and amused, but in Shadowmere's opinion he looked as though he was doing everything in his power to not projectile vomit.

"Well, Dibella must really love me today," he said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. Gaston laughed aloud and grabbed Ilend around the neck, giving him a noogie as though he was a kid brother.

"And not to worry my dear," Davide said, patting Shadowmere on the hip, giving her the urge to impale his sinuses with her fist. "We don't live too far from the gate." Shadowmere breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"That's good, I've been walking all day," she said as they walked through the wide open western gate. "All the way from Kvatch."

"Good heavens! And Ilend didn't think to offer you a lift or find a horse to borrow?" Gaston asked, punching Ilend in the shoulder. "Vangogh would have been more than willing to let her ride."

"Hard for a dead horse to carry anything," Ilend scoffed as they walked up a slight incline from the central path.

"_I'm going to get an ulcer if I don't get to punch something soon,"_ Shadowmere decided, Ilend's comment reminding her why she didn't care for his company.

"You know, I forgot you live right across from the Two Sisters," Ilend added before the brothers could comment on the death of the horse. "We could just stay there tonight after we visit fo-"

"Uh-uh," Davide said, turning his head to face Ilend. "You guys are ours for the night." Feeling camaraderie with Ilend for the first time, Shadowmere shared a terrified look with him as they both wondered if they had misunderstood the brother's hospitality. Releasing his hold on Shadowmere's arm, Davide pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door of a modest townhouse. "Right this way," he said, helping her into the foyer.

The back door directly was directly across from the front door, and the narrow entryway led to a fair sized kitchen. The kitchen had a table and two chairs, in addition to a couple of cabinets and a door to the basement.

"Home sweet home," Gaston said, visibly relieved that the working day was done. Though she had never had a real house of her own, Shadowmere was unimpressed with the brothers' home.

"Not much in the way of entertaining space, eh boys?" she said, meeting eyes with Davide's.

"The living space is on the next floor," he said with a smile. "I'll give you a lift up the stairs." Without giving her time to protest, Davide scooped up Shadowmere and headed to the stairs, concealed behind a partial wall. As he made a move to go up the first step, to Shadowmere's horror, he didn't keep a watchful eye on her dangling legs and smashed her foot against the wall.

"Ga-ah!" she grunted, clutching her now throbbing foot. "What the hell?" Davide was immediately penitent, and took a moment to make sure she wasn't going to punish him physically.

"Oh, well done Davide," Ilend shot, inexplicably upset for something that hadn't happened to him. "Maybe once we get to the top, you'd like to throw her down the stairs." Gaston chortled, though Shadowmere hoped that Ilend was kidding.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?" Davide asked her, sounding genuinely remorseful. "These stairs are a lot narrower than I thought they were."

"It's an easy mistake," she groused, not wanting to make him unhappy while he was still carrying her. _"It's not like you live here or anything."_ As they reached the top, Davide was extremely vigilant to make sure he didn't make such a terrible faux pas again. The floor was mostly open, with a room to the left, where Davide headed.

"Gaston, move the bench so we don't have to shout to talk to one another," he said, the other brother doing as he was asked before Davide put her down on the bench. "Let me get you a pillow or two," he said, hurrying out of the room and up another flight of stairs.

"I'll just head upstairs and clean up a bit," Gaston said, heading for the door. "We'll be down in just a few minutes, but make yourselves at home." He turned and headed out the doorway and when the sound of feet going up the stairs was plain to hear, Ilend looked directly at Shadowmere.

"Do you believe me now?" he whispered harshly, his eyes wide and his face filled with obvious frustration. "They're the biggest horses' asses in the city!"

"Look, I won't fight you on that matter," she admitted quietly. "They've done nothing but stare at my boobs and try to re-break my foot. But they're giving us free lodging and free booze. I really like free."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm as cheap as the next man," Ilend started. "But this is something that I'm more than willing to shell out the money for." She was tempted to just make Ilend pay for a room, but there would be no way to make him finance her future hangover.

"Look, what's the worst they can do?"

"Get one of us drunk and take advantage," he answered immediately. "I've seen them do it before and I have to believe they've done it since I worked here."

"Let them try and lay a hand on me," she sassed. "They're going to pull back nubs." Ilend laughed and covered it quickly with his hand.

"I was actually a little more worried for myself than for you," he scoffed. "I know you can take care of yourself."

"Should I be offended by that?" she wondered, knowing he respected her strength but wasn't concerned for her safety. "No, it's not like I give a crap about him," she realized, shaking away the thought. "Okay, if they make a move on you, then we'll go somewhere else," she said, making the only concession she was willing to. Ilend rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Great, thanks for that," he muttered. "Look just don't ask me to fight them off for you."

"Ditto," she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow, inviting him to comment further. Ilend instead played the strong, silent type. _"More like a mousy, mute type,"_ she thought with spite. She couldn't begin to understand why her thoughts had again drifted toward such animosity toward Ilend, but it didn't bother her enough to think about it as she heard the footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Back and freshly laundered," Davide said, his hair now combed, his clothes clean and his scent much less manure-y than before.

"_He looks almost doable,"_ she decided. _"Almost."_ In addition to looking far more presentable he carried a pillow under his arm that he brought over to Shadowmere's side.

"I'll try to do this right this time," he said, kneeling by her feet. "Without bashing it against the wall." He hoisted her foot indelicately and the resulting throb of pain made her grunt.

"You're not awarding a lot of confidence," she told him, taking the pillows and putting them under her foot. "No offense, but my feet have been through enough in the past few days." Davide looked miffed, but covered it with a quick smile.

"None taken, but is there anything I can do to help?" he asked. "I'm just trying to make up for the stairs thing."

"_He looks like he actually means it,"_ she considered, noting the wide eyes and lifted eyebrows. "You could make me an icepack," she suggested. "Ilend could I have the ice bucket please?" She asked with an abundance of sweetness in her voice.

"Just take what you need, I'll hold it," he snapped, tightening his hold on the buckets rough rope handle, his scowl saying he knew her intentions.

"Ilend, don't be silly," Gaston said, returning to the room and ignorant of the subtext between his two guests. "Sit down and take a load off." He had changed his clothes, wiped the dirt from his face and had put on a clean black hood.

"_How many of those does he have?"_ she pondered, envisioning a drawer filled with black hoods of varying wear and tear. Before Ilend could protest Gaston's demands, Davide snatched the bucket, leaving his awkwardly soaked pants in full view.

"Were you **that** nervous about seeing old friends Ilend?" Gaston asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's…it's not what it looks like," Ilend stammered as his cheeks flushed. "**Someone** in the room hit me in a rather unsporting manner, so I filled my pants with ice, which has since melted." Unfairly satisfied with herself, and the blushing fool she had made of Ilend, Shadowmere took the bucket and allowed Davide to make a packet of ice, like the one she had made at the inn, and put it against her foot like a peace offering.

"Well, didn't she get a finder's fee?" Davide asked, a sly look crawling from his mouth outward. "You know? For finding your boys?" Shadowmere bit her tongue, but a subdued laugh still managed to slip out.

"I know what you meant Davide," Ilend snapped. "I was merely trying to recall how much you paid Gaston for the same service." Short of getting her fist lodged in her larynx, nothing would have stopped Shadowmere's shocked blast of laughter at prudish Ilend's salty comment. Meanwhile, Davide rolled his eyes though his fierce blushing indicated Ilend's comment hit the mark.

"So you mentioned that you had something that would make me forget about my foot?" she piped up, hoping the Surilies wouldn't retract their offer of free booze and lodging. Of course for all she knew, that's what Ilend had been trying to accomplish. _"Clever bastard."_

"Of course my lady!" Gaston was evidently also hoping to move the conversation along. "Davide, get a bottle of the 399," he said, gathering wine glasses from the cabinet.

"Gaston, this early?" Davide asked, aghast. "We only just stopped working! Only Agnete drinks like that!"

"The woman's in pain!" the hooded brother said, gesturing toward Shadowmere, who aimed to play the part.

"Oh!" she groaned, grabbing her foot. "So much pain!" Ilend gave her a derisive look and rolled his eyes at her blatant over-acting.

"See?" Gaston said with satisfaction. "Plus, if we drink the good stuff first, it'll get us tipsy enough to not care that we're drinking the cheap- newer vintage."

"Alright, alright!" Davide sighed, heading reluctantly for the cellar. "I can see I'm outnumbered in this matter."

"I doubt I'll be able to tell the difference sober," Shadowmere murmured to no one in particular.

"Oh great," Ilend muttered, sinking cautiously into a chair as Gaston turned abruptly to her.

"Shadowmere," the vintner said with forced cordiality. "Can you tell the difference between water and cat piss?" She raised an eyebrow at the analogy.

"Not by taste, but in theory, yes."

"Alright, that's the difference in our wines."

"So one tastes like water and the other like cat piss?" she asked. "I can't say I'd like drinking either one."

"I meant **metaphorically**," Gaston asserted quickly, his face flustered. "Our wines are nothing like those substances."

"I'm not the one who made the comparison," she said throwing up her hands defensively. "You're the one who brought up the cat piss."

"Hey who wants to hear a joke?" The awesome randomness of Ilend's outburst was enough to strike both Gaston and Shadowmere dumb.

"Great, so this imp floats into a tavern and sits himself on the bar.

'Barkeep, whiskey!' he yells. And the innkeeper slides him a glass which is like a horse bucket for the little chap, and he dunks his head in the whiskey. In the meantime, this Nord walks in. Big man, looks like he's worked down on the dirt farm all day and he sits at the bar, holds out his hand and the barkeep slides a tankard of grog down to him. About that time, the imp gets up and pushes the empty glass away and flies down the length of the bar, stops in front of the Nord, stares at him, hacks and spits in the man's face. The Nord is shocked, but he's just exhausted and the imp just goes down the bar and the Nord decides to just let it go and enjoy his drink. The imp orders another drink and drinks it down and comes wandering down, half flying and half walking. He stops in front of the Nord again and the Nord thinks,

'No he wouldn't.' In fact he would; the imp spits in his face and makes his way down to his spot and orders another whiskey. Now the Nord is on his guard, he watches the imp while he drinks his way to the bottom of the glass, staring back at him through the bottom of the glass. The Nord thinks to himself, 'boy, if he thinks he's coming down here again, I'll fix his wagon.' Well sure enough, the imp finishes his drink and stumbles and staggers down the bar. He stops in front of the Nord and he starts hacking a wad to beat all wads and as he's about to spit, the Nord grabs the little bastard by the throat.

'Lad, you better listen good. You spit at me again and I will snap your little pecker off.' The imp just giggles and says,

'Well, good luck big boy, 'cause I haven't got one.' Well, this shocks the life out of the Nord and he says,

'Well, damn boy, among other things, how do you piss?' The imp smirks and…" Ilend pantomimed spitting in Gaston's face.

"So…the whole time…he was…?" Gaston said, a shocked smile on his face. Ilend nodded as Shadowmere had already started laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?" Davide asked, coming up from the cellar and wiping off a bottle with a rag. "Gaston, you didn't tell them about the…thing…did you?" Gaston's eyes widened with horror as he gave his head a slight shake, causing both men to blush furiously.

"What color is it and how many bottles of illness cure did it take to get rid of it?" Shadowmere asked with all seriousness. The shades of red the two men turned defied any color Shadowmere could put a name to.

"Three," Davide murmured, as Shadowmere let out an impressed whistle.

"Astounding; what were you doing and have you told the other party involved?"

"Anyway," Ilend said moving past Shadowmere's less than appropriate inquiry. "How's the winery been treating you two?"

"Well, sales have been good lately," Davide said, uncorking the now dust-free bottle. "The Emperor dying has done wonders for business."

"I'm sure he and his murdered family would be glad their deaths helped boost liquor sales," Shadowmere muttered discretely behind her hand while Davide poured the wine. Ilend's brow lifted as if to say he agreed with the comment only they could hear.

"So where are you stationed these days?" Gaston asked, handing out the goblets to Shadowmere and Ilend before taking one for himself.

"Kvatch," Ilend said, almost as though he wished it wasn't true, and took a drink. As Shadowmere took a cautious swallow, she watched the Surilies wince and shake their heads.

"I didn't think there were any survivors," Davide murmured. "God's blood, how'd you get out of there?"

"Maybe he's responsible," Gaston snickered, evidently unable to hold even a sip of the special vintage. Ilend's eyes narrowed, his mood worsening as though someone had thrown a switch.

"Yeah Gaston," he said, his voice scathing. "I opened a gate to Oblivion, chased out a bunch of daedra and laid waste to the town I've served for almost twenty years." Sensing his comment was ill received, Gaston struggled to make it right.

"Come on Ilend, it was a joke! I never meant to offend!" By the look on Ilend's face, he'd failed miserably.

"Just like I never meant to knock out some of your favorite teeth?" Shadowmere sighed and put her face in her palm; every time she thought she no longer had to worry about Ilend having the opportunity to mouth off to one of the Surilies, one of the brothers would kick the door open and invite him in. _"He's justified this time." _"Alright, my turn," she cut in and blocked the hypothetical doorway before Ilend could make good on his threat. "I never had a pet." The three men looked at her like she had something hanging from her nose. "It's a game," she explained, glad they were focused on something else. "I say 'I never' something. If you did whatever it is I said I've never done, you take a drink. So, if you've ever had a pet, take a drink." Sharing a quizzical look, their disagreement forgotten for a moment, the three men each took a sip from their respective goblets. "Alright Davide, your turn." Davide seemed puzzled and took a moment to think over the task Shadowmere had just laid at his feet.

"I never broke a bone," he said at last. Ilend, Shadowmere and Gaston each took a swallow, and Davide looked relieved that his contribution had been successful.

"Alright, Gaston's turn," Shadowmere said. The younger man swirled the wine around the glass pensively.

"Umm…I've never visited another country?" he offered.

"Yes you have!" Davide yelped, nearly leaping off the desk where he had seated himself. "We went to High Rock for cousin Sebastian's wedding a few years ago!"

"Oh I forgot about that!" Gaston looked like he had committed a mortal sin. "What do I do now?"

"It's alright, it just means you drink too," Shadowmere explained, having already taken her sip.

"Oh, so we can do that?" Ilend asked, taking a swallow. "If we can't think of something, we can just say something we've done?"

"Yeah, but the goal is to be the one who stays sober the longest," Shadowmere explained. "And it's your turn." Ilend sighed and thought a moment.

"I never fell in love," he said. Shadowmere scoffed at the asininity of the comment as both brothers were the only ones to imbibe. "Sad commentary, that," Ilend added quietly.

"I never licked a flagpole in winter," she stated, and chortled as all three men reluctantly nipped at their goblets.

"I…never knocked out anyone's teeth," Davide said, getting into the swing of things. This time, it was she and Ilend who had to drink.

"I never smuggled skooma," Gaston offered. Tipsy enough to not care that she was confessing to a crime in front of a city guardsman, Shadowmere alone took a sip.

"You did?" Davide asked incredulously. "Why would you?" Shadowmere shrugged.

"I was young and needed the money." In actuality, she had been a horse and had her saddlebags stuffed with illegal substances. For whatever reason, Davide nodded sympathetically.

"Ah, I know how that is," he added.

"_I would pay great amounts of money to not know what he did for money,"_ she concluded.

"I never threw up on a stranger." Ilend smirked as he was the only one who was able to sit out that round.

"Have you thrown up on anyone you did know?" she asked, having taken her liquid penance.

"That's not at all relevant," he stated sharply.

"I never threw up on anyone I know," she quickly retorted, taking her turn and deliberately saying something she'd done. _"On several occasions."_ All members of the drinking party drank, Ilend more reluctantly than the rest. "Yeah, that's what I thought," she smirked.

And so the game went on, hour after hour, bottle after bottle. Shadowmere found that she was having to drink a great deal more than her companions, but she handled her chemical handicap considerably better.

"I never ate a bug," Davide muttered, now lying on the floor with his feet on a chair, and watched Shadowmere and Gaston drink.

"I'm assuming kwama count," she stated, only after taking a swallow.

"What's a kwama?" Gaston asked from where he laid on his belly on the floor.

"Big edible bugs from Morrowind," she said, somewhat surprised that anyone didn't know what they were. "Not great, but not bad if it's cooked right." She chortled as she

"I never put someone's hand in warm water to make them pee themselves. Damn it!" Gaston had demonstrated throughout the night that he had no clue how to properly play the game as he continually had to drink for his own questions. In this case, he was joined by Ilend and Davide, but there had been times when he had drunk alone on his turn.

"You guys are disgusting," Shadowmere slurred. Despite her ability to hold her liquor, the wine and beers had joined forces and were laying siege to her brain.

"You know what's worse?" Ilend asked, struggling to refill his goblet with the remains of their fourth bottle of wine. "These two did it to me. On the same night."

"And then this chucklehead," Davide said, shoving Ilend and causing him to spill a bit of the wine from the bottle. "Did it to both of us the next night."

"Just one big happy, urine soaked family," Shadowmere sighed, now uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in any bed in the Surilie house. "Ilend take your turn."

"I never had sex in my sibling's bed." With what looked like a modicum of shame, Davide drank, as Gaston's jaw landed somewhere in the basement.

"You- in my bed?" Gaston squawked, Shadowmere laughing heartily at the girlish noise. "What was wrong with your own?"

"It was soaked in piss," Davide answered, matter of factly. "You cleaned yours up quick and then spent the night somewhere else."

"Damn it Ilend, this is your fault!" Gaston whined.

"I never felt homesick," Shadowmere yawned, noting that her goblet was empty. _"I'm just going to fake drink from here on out,"_ she decided, lacking the energy to reach for the bottle to refill her glass.

"That's not possible," Ilend contested after swallowing his mouthful.

"Yes it is. If it weren't I'd be drinking along with you. Note the lack of drinking."

"I never had sex with a Dunmer," Davide said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. The comment served to quickly add a heavy dose of sobriety to Shadowmere's demeanor.

"Neither did I," Gaston said, he and Davide leering at Shadowmere. "But ask me again tomorrow." He pushed himself up to his knees and shuffled over to where she sat, somehow managing to get to his feet.

"If the answer is no tonight, it'll still be no tomorrow," Shadowmere spat, observing that Ilend was sitting straighter than he had been moments earlier.

"Oh come on," Davide pressed, walking his fingers up her arm to her shoulder. "We're all drunk enough that it won't matter tomorrow."

"You guys go ahead then," she responded, sharply flicking his hand away from her. "But I'm not joining."

"But you're so gorgeous!" Gaston slurred, the words somehow finding their way past his wine-addled tongue. "What man wouldn't want you?" As he spoke, he "stumbled" and fell on top of her, his hands desperately trying to break his fall by grabbing for her breasts.

"What does the word 'no' mean to you guys?" she shouted, shoving him back and slapping him across the face. "I said no and I meant it!"

"Maybe we need some kind of payment for letting you stay with us and drink our wine," Davide snarled, his attitude drastically changed. Shadowmere felt her fingers automatically curling into a fist.

"Boys, the woman said no." Ilend's voice coming to her rescue was hardly what she expected, but for once she was glad to hear it. He was on his feet, either ignoring or ignorant of the dampness still hanging in his crotch, and his arms were crossed as he put on what Shadowmere assumed was his "guard face."

"Oh this isn't your jurisdiction Vonius, just relax," Gaston snapped, still rubbing his face as he brushed off the veiled warning.

"I have but to mention this to my friends in the guard here," Ilend said quietly, his eyes narrowing and his voice calm and cool. "And you boys would lose your livelihood and what little remains of your reputations." The brothers looked at each other with furious and defeated expressions, while Shadowmere took the opportunity to grab her bucket and her bag before hopping toward the door.

"Fine," Davide hissed, crossing his arms and glaring at the two now unwelcome guests. "But you're not sleeping in the house bitch."

"Believe me," she said, making for the stairs while Ilend gathered his belongings and followed her. "I've made my peace with that." Davide rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"I was talking to Ilend," he stated. "But you're no longer welcome here either, you emasculating, frigid cow."

"Yeah," she called, already limping down the stairs. "Have fun diddling your brother in your piss soaked bed, you pervert!"

"Screw you, harpy!" He shouted back, the stink of liquor on his breath almost reaching her nose from the top of the stairs.

"You'd never survive it!" she yelled, just as she opened the front door. What he yelled back was incoherent, both from his drunken lips and to her drunken ears, so she simply staggered out the door, nearly slamming it on Ilend's nose.

"Didn't I tell you?" he yelped, his cheeks flushed bright red. "What did I tell you about them?"

"Alright, fine you're right!" she snapped back, the alcohol making a last minute push in her system and draining the energy out of her. "Look, I just want to go to sleep, I don't care where you sleep, but leave me alone!" Making her way toward the gate, she realized that Ilend was doing the opposite of what she asked. "Go. Aways." She didn't care that she had added a letter to the last word, or that Ilend was scowling as he trailed her.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight!" he grumbled. "So find a place to crash and I'll find somewhere where I won't bother you." Shadowmere sighed as she pounded on the now closed city gates.

"Fine, I don't even care anymore," she spat, wracking her brain for places to sleep where Ilend would be less likely to follow. "Open the gate!" she yelled impatiently, even as the guards on duty pushed the enormous doors open.

"Lady," one said in a warning tone. "The only reason that we're not hauling you off to the drunk tank is because you're leaving. Don't make us rethink the choice."

"I'll rethink your face!" she said, even as Ilend boldly pushed her out the gate.

"Thanks Ilend," the other guard said with relief.

"Oh why don't the two of you just get a room!" she snipped, jerking her shoulder away from Ilend's touch.

"Alright, that's enough," he said, crossing his arms once they were out the gate. "If you're so intent on being alone, go find somewhere to sleep it off. I won't follow you."

"You'd better not!" she threatened, not even totally sure what he had said, thought she did know she was still fighting with him. With that, she turned away from the massive oak gate and tottered down the path, rain starting to fall from the sky.


End file.
